THE  SO^ 


PHILIP  GIBBS 


/^'^'^r^i&^t^^'J:'V^j\V'J^  lx'.<yy^^  J 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/battlesofsommeOOgibb 


THE  BATTLES  OF 
THE  SOMME 


PHILIP  GIBBS 


THE   BATTLES  OF 
THE  SOMME 


BY 

PHILIP  GIBBS 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  SOUL   OF  THE   WAR* 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1917, 
BY  GEORGE   H.   DORAN   COMPAK^ 


PRINTED  m  THE  UNITED  8TATJ5S  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


CHAFIER 


PAGE 

Introduction vii 

I.    The  Historic  First  of  July 21 

n.    The  First  Charge 38 

III.  The  Field  of  Honour 46 

IV.  The  Death-Song  of  the  Germans  ....  57 
V.    The  Attack  on  the  Left 65 

VI.    The  London  Men  at  Gommecourt       ...  71 

VII.    The  Men  Who  Fought  at  Fricourt    ...  79 

VIII.    How  the  Prussians  Fell  at  Contalmaison  .  87 

IX.    A  Cameo  of  War 95 

>.           X.    The  Assault  on  Contalmaison      ....  100 

or 

^         XL    The  Battle  of  the  Woods 109 

CO                                                                                  ^  , 

Ij        XII.    The  Fight  for  Ovillers iio 

§      XIII.    Through  the  German  Second  Line     ...     .  124 

S5       XIV.    The  Woods  of  Death 142 

2        XV.    Prisoners  of  War 147 

XVI.    The  Last  Stand  in  Ovillers 151 

XVII.    The  Scots  at  Longueval 154 

XVIIL    The  Devil's  Wood 160 

XIX.    The  Work  of  the  Guns 172 

XX.    The  Fighting  Round  Waterlot  Farm      .     .  178 

XXI.    The  Peter  Pans  of  War 182 

XXII.    The  High  Ground  At  Pozieres      ....  188 

XXIII.    The  Germans'  Side  of  the  Somme  ....  220 

V 


345575 


yi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  The  Attack  on  Thiepval 227 

XXV.  The  Last  Fights  in  Devil's  Wood      .     .     .  244 

XXVI.  The  Australians  at  Mouquet  Farm  .     .     .  250 

XXVII.  The  Capture  of  Guillemont 258 

XXVin.  The  Irish  at  Ginchy 276 

XXIX.  The  Coming  of  the  Tanks 284 

XXX.  Fighting  Beyond  Flers 300 

XXXI.  Monsters  and  Men 305 

XXXII.  London  Pride .~   .     7     T    .  318 

XXXin.  The  Splendid  New  Zealanders^     ....  324 

XXXIV.  The  Canadians  at  Courcelette     ....  337. 

XXXV.  The  Abandonment  of  Combles       ....  336 

XXXVI.  The  Doom  of  Thiepval 345 

XXXVII.  Northward  from  Thiepval 356 

XXXVIIL  The  Way  to  Bapaume 366 

XXXIX.  The  German  Verdict  of  the  Somme  Battles  371 


INTRODUCTION 

The  Coming  of  the  New  Armies 

In  this  book  I  have  put  together  the  articles  which  I  have 
written  day  by  day  for  more  than  three  months,  since  that 
first  day  of  July,  1916,  when  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
British  troops  rose  out  of  the  ditches  held  against  the  en- 
emy for  nearly  two  years  of  trench  warfare,  advanced  over 
open  country  upon  the  most  formidable  system  of  defences 
ever  organised  by  great  armies,  and  began  a  series  of  battles 
as  fierce  and  bloody  as  anything  the  old  earth  has  seen  on 
such  a  stretch  of  ground  since  the  beginning  of  human 
strife. 

Before  July  i  I  had  an  idea  of  writing  a  book  about 
all  that  I  had  seen  for  nearly  eighteen  months,  since  I  aban- 
doned the  hazardous  game  of  a  free  lance  in  the  war-zones 
of  France  and  Belgium  (to  me  those  were  the  great  and 
wonderful  days)  and  became  officially  accredited  as  a  cor- 
respondent with  the  British  armies  in  the  field.  I  had  seen 
a  good  deal  in  the  trenches  and  behind  the  lines — nearly 
all  there  was  to  see — of  stationary  warfare  from  Ypres 
to  the  Somme,  and  enough  to  understand  with  every  nerve 
in  my  body  not  only  the  abomination  of  this  doom  which 
put  fine  sensitive  men  into  dirty  mudholes  and  sinister  ruins, 
in  exile  from  the  comforts  and  beauty  and  decency  of  life, 
under  the  continual  menace  of  death  or  mutilation,  but 
also  the  valour  of  great  numbers  of  simple  souls  who  hated 
it  all  and  yet  endured  it  with  a  queer  gaiety,  and  laughed 
even  while  they  cursed  its  beastliness,  and  resigned  them- 
selves to  its  worst  miseries  like  Christian  martyrs  with  a 
taste  for  beer  and  the  pictures  of  the  "vie  parisienne."  I 
had  seen,  and  suffered   from,  the  boredom  of  this  sta- 

v3 


vili  INTRODUCTION 

tionary  warfare — an  intolerable  boredom  It  is,  demoralising 
to  men  whose  imaginations  demand  something  brighter  and 
more  varied  than  a  glimpse  through  the  sandbags  at  the 
same  old  fringe  of  broken  tree,  the  same  old  ruined  house, 
the  same  old  line  of  chalky  trenches,  from  which  death  may 
come  at  any  moment  by  rifle-grenade,  sniper's  bullet,  or 
whizz-bang — which  is  not  an  exciting  form  of  death  giv- 
ing men  the  thrill  of  dramatic  moments  before  they  drop. 
Even  in  this  danger  there  was  no  cure  for  the  deadening 
monotony  after  the  first  few  days  of  new  experience.  It 
was  just  another  part  of  the  dirty  business,  and,  for  men 
of  nerves,  a  nagging,  apprehensive  thought,  varied  by  mo- 
ments of  cold,  horrible  fear.  Behind  the  lines,  on  supply 
columns,  at  railheads,  in  billets,  in  squalid  villages  of  Flan- 
ders and  Picardy  with  their  rows  of  miserable  estaminets 
and  evil-smelling  farmyards,  Boredom,  monstrous  and 
abominable,  sat  like  a  witch-hag  on  the  shoulders  of  many 
men,  divorced  from  the  interests  of  their  old  home  life, 
from  their  women-folk,  from  the  reasonable  normal  rou- 
tine of  peaceful  careers.  Discipline  and  duty  had  taken 
the  place  of  personal  ambitions  and  the  joy  of  life,  and 
they  are  cold  virtues,  very  comfortless.  Artists,  actors, 
barristers,  writers,  sportsmen,  and  men  who  had  found 
good  fun  in  youth  and  the  wide  world,  or  some  corner  of  it, 
found  themselves  as  officers  on  supply  columns,  R.T.O.'s, 
D.A.D.O.S.'s,  and  in  other  administrative  jobs,  condemned 
to  a  drudgery  melancholy  in  its  limitations  and  apparently 
interminable.  To  many  of  them  their  area  of  activity  was 
confined  between  one  squalid  village  and  another,  and  the 
chance  of  a  stray  shell  or  of  an  aeroplane  bomb  did  not 
really  brighten  up  the  scene. 

They  fought  against  this  desolation  of  mind  valiantly — 
and  it  wanted  valour — forced  themselves  to  get  absorbed  in 
the  minute  details  of  their  work,  sent  for  the  old  banjo 
from  home,  organised  canteens,  smoking  concerts,  boxing 
matches,  cultivated  cheeriness  as  the  first  law  of  daily  life 
until  it  became  a  second  nature,  beneath  which  the  first 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES  ix 

nature  only  obtruded  at  night  when  they  went  back  to  sleep 
in  their  billets  and  before  sleeping  cried  out  in  a  kind  of 
agony,  "How  long  is  this  going  on? — this  Insanity,  this 
waste  of  life,  this  unnatural,  damned  existence!" 

The  fighting  men  had  all  the  danger  and,  on  the  whole, 
were  less  dull  during  the  long  period  of  stationary  warfare. 
They  too  cultivated  cheerfulness  as  the  first  law  of  daily 
life,  and  it  was  a  harder  job,  yet  they  succeeded  wonderfully 
in  spite  of  the  filthy  trenches,  the  rats  and  vermin,  the  ice- 
cold  water  in  which  they  waded  up  to  the  front  line  during 
the  long  months  of  a  Flemish  winter  (beginning  in  Octo- 
ber and  ending — perhaps — in  April)  the  trench-feet  which 
for  a  time — until  the  rubbing-drill  was  adopted — drained 
the  strength  of  many  battalions,  and  the  enemy's  shell-fire 
and  mining  activities  which  took  a  daily  toll  of  life  and 
limbs.  Many  of  them  found  a  gruesome  humour  in  all 
this,  laughed  at  death  as  a  low  comedian,  guffawed  if  they 
dodged  its  knock-about  tricks  by  the  length  of  a  traverse, 
and  did  not  go  very  sick  if  it  laid  out  their  best  pal.  "You 
know,  sir,  it  doesn't  do  to  take  this  war  seriously."  So 
said  a  sergeant  to  me  as  we  stood  in  a  trench  beyond  our 
knees  in  water.  It  was  a  great  saying,  and  I  saw  the  phi- 
losophy which  had  kept  men  sane.  Without  laughter,  some- 
how, anyhow,  by  any  old  joke,  we  should  have  lost  the  war 
long  ago.  The  only  way  to  avoid  deadly  depression  was 
to  keep  smiling.  And  so  for  laughter's  sake  and  to  keep 
normal  in  abnormal  ways  of  life  there  was  a  great  uncon- 
scious conspiracy  of  cheerfulness  among  officers  and  men, 
and  the  most  popular  man  in  a  platoon  was  the  fellow  who 
could  twist  a  joke  out  of  a  dead  German,  or  the  subaltern 
who  could  lead  a  patrol  into  No  Man's  Land  with  men 
chuckling  over  some  whimsical  word  about  his  widow,  or 
the  comic  corporal  who  could  play  ragtime  tunes  on  a 
comb  and  tissue-paper.  Behind  the  lines  there  were  variety 
theatres  in  old  warehouses  ventilated  by  shell-holes,  packed 
by  muddy  men  just  out  of  the  trenches,  who  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  laugh  for  the  first  half-hour  and  then  roared  with 


X  INTRODUCTION 

laughter  at  funny  fellows  dressed  as  Mrs.  Twankey,  or 
Charlie  Chaplin,  or  the  red-nosed  comic  turn  who  satirised 
"brass  hats"  and  the  Army  Safety  Corps  and  Kaiser  Bill, 
and  the  effect  of  a  17-inch  shell  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Pri- 
vate Spoofkins,  V.C. 

Discipline  and  hard  work  helped  men  to  forget  the  voice 
that  called  back  to  the  days  of  individual  liberty  and  peace. 
There  was  always  something  to  do  up  in  the  trenches,  build- 
ing up  the  parapets  which  in  the  Salient  slipped  down  after 
every  rain-storm,  wiring,  revetting,  digging  new  communi- 
cation-trenches (under  the  enemy's  machine-gun  fire), 
keeping  German  heads  down  by  sniping  every  head  that 
came  up,  between  the  stand-to  at  dusk  and  dawn.  After 
the  relief  in  the  trenches — getting  out  was  the  risky  job — 
there  was  not  much  rest  in  the  rest  camps,  what  with 
parades,  bombing  schools,  bayonet  drill,  machine-gun 
courses,  and  practice  at  the  rifle-range.  "I'd  rather  be  in 
the  blinkin'  trenches  again,"  groused  the  tired  Tommy. 
"Oh,  you'll  soon  be  back  again,  my  lad,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"Yet  another  week  of  your  bright  young  life." 

It  was  the  youngest  men  who  were  most  cheerful — young 
officers  especially,  just  down  from  the  Universities  or  the 
Public  Schools.  Life  was  beginning  for  them,  and  even  here 
in  the  dirty  ditches  they  found  the  thrill  of  life,  the  splen- 
dour of  life,  the  beauty  of  life.  They  found  it  splendid  to 
command  men,  to  win  their  trust,  to  "make  good"  with 
them.  The  comradeship  with  fellow-officers,  the  respon- 
sibility of  their  rank,  the  revelation  of  their  own  manhood 
and  of  their  own  courage — they  had  been  afraid  of  failing 
in  pluck — and  their  professional  interest  in  their  jobs  as 
gunners  or  sappers  or  bombers,  whatever  they  might  be, 
were  great  rewards  for  the  dirt  and  the  danger.  I  saw 
many  of  these  boys  in  places  where  death  lay  in  wait  for 
them,  and  they  had  shining  eyes  and  strode  along  cheerily, 
talking  proudly  of  some  little  "stunt"  they  had  done  with 
their  men,  and  not  worrying  about  the  menace  overhead. 
It  was  all  "topping"  to  them,  until  the  strain  began  to  tell. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES  xi 

The  Ideals  of  the  Public  Schools,  the  old  traditional  ideals 
of  British  boyhood — "Duke  et  decorum  est  ..."  Play 
the  game,"  'Flore at  Etona,"  or  whatever  the  old  school 
motto  of  chivalry  and  service  might  be — ^inspired  them  and 
made  a  little  white  flame  of  enthusiasm  in  their  hearts  at 
which  their  spirit  warmed  itself  when  the  body  was  very 
cold  and  everything  comfortless.  One  by  one  many  of  them 
were  soon  picked  off  by  German  snipers  or  laid  out  by  Ger- 
man shells,  but  others  came  out,  and  others,  in  an  endless 
procession  of  splendid  boyhood,  still  "to  play  the  game." 
With  them  came  new  battalions  of  men,  whistling  and  sing- 
ing along  the  roads  of  France. 

I  saw  the  first  Territorial  Divisions  come  out,  and  then 
the  first  of  the  "Kitchener  crowd,"  and  gradually,  month 
after  month,  the  building  up  of  the  New  Army.    The  Old 
Army,  that  little  Regular  army  which  fought  on  the  retreat 
from  Mons  to  the  Marne  and  then  upon  the  Aisne,  and 
then  had  swung  up  into  Flanders  to  bar  the  way  to  Calais — 
was  gone  for  ever  and  was  no  more  than  an  heroic  mem- 
ory.    In  the  first  Battle  of  Ypres  and  the  second  they  had 
done  all  that  human  nature  could  do,  and  the  fields  were 
strewn  with  their  dead  until  only  a  pitiful  remnant  held 
the  lines  of  that  salient  against  which  the  enemy  had  hurled 
himself  in  massed  attacks  supported  by  tremendous  artil- 
lery.  Battalions  had  been  wiped  out,  divisions  had  been  cut 
to  pieces.  A  year  ago  a  battalion  commander  told  me  that  he 
was  one  out  of  only  150  officers  belonging  to  the  original 
Expeditionary  Force  still  serving  in  the  trenches — and  a 
year  is  a  long  time  in  such  a  war  as  this.    I  met  men  who 
had  passed  unscathed  through  all  of  that,  but  there  were 
not  many  of   them.     The  regiments  remained,   but  they 
were  filled  up  with  new  drafts.     The  old  traditions  re- 
mained, fostered  by  the  old  soldiers  here  and  there,  and 
by  officers  who  know  the  value  of  tradition,  but  they  were 
new  men  and  new  armies  who  were  beginning  to  crowd  the 
roads  of  France  and  to  straighten  the  lines  of  defence. 
They  were  the  lads  who  had  l>een  called  to  the  colours  by 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

the  shouts  of  the  street  placards :  "Your  King  and  Country 
need  you,"  "What  did  yon  do,  daddy,  in  the  Great  War?" 
(I  could  not  print  the  outrageous  answers  I  have  heard  to 
that  little  simple  question!)  and  "What  will  your  best  girl 
say  if  you  don't  wear  khaki?"  They  had  been  called  by 
quieter  and  nobler  voices  also,  speaking  to  their  hearts 
above  the  clicking  of  typewriters  in  city  offices  and  the 
whirr  of  machinery  in  great  workshops  and  in  the  silence 
of  the  fields  where  they  followed  the  plough.  It  was  an 
arrry  of  amateurs  hastily  drilled,  hastily  trained,  knowing 
very  little  of  the  real  business  of  war,  but  quick  to  learn 
and  full  of  pluck.  They  were  led  for  the  most  part  by 
temporary  officers  "for  the  period  of  the  war  only,"  with 
a  few  old  "dug-outs"  among  them  and  some  old  non-com- 
missioned officers  to  stififen  them.  The  Germans  jeered  at 
them — not  the  enemy  in  the  trenches  but  the  enemy  in  hos- 
tile newspaper  offices.  "What  can  this  rabble  of  amateurs 
do?"  they  asked.  The  answer  was  kept  waiting  for  a  little 
while. 

The  New  Armies  were  learning.  They  were  bearing  the 
hardships,  the  cruelties,  the  brutalities  of  war,  and  had  to 
suffer  and  "stick"  them.  They  were  learning  the  craft 
of  modern  warfare  in  trenches,  mine-shafts,  and  saps,  be- 
hind field-guns  and  "heavies,"  and  they  had  to  pay  for  their 
lessons  by  blood  and  agony.  I  went  to  see  the  New  Armies 
learning  their  lesson  in  frightful  places.  Always  the 
worst  place  was  the  Ypres  Salient,  where  the  enemy  had 
the  advantage  of  ground  and  observation,  so  that  he  could 
shoot  at  our  men  from  three  points  of  the  compass  and 
even  hit  them  in  the  back.  The  names  of  all  these  places 
in  the  Salient  are  a  litany  of  death — Pilkem,  Potije,  Hooge, 
Zillebeke,  Vlamertinghe,  Sanctuary  Wood — and  Hooge  was 
the  concentration-ground  of  all  that  was  devilish.  Dead 
bodies  were  heaped  there,  buried  and  unburied.  Men  dug 
into  corruption  when  they  tried  to  dig  a  trench.  Men  sat 
on  dead  bodies  when  they  peered  through  their  periscopes. 
They  ate  and  slept  with  the  stench  of  death  in  their  nostrils. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES        xiii 

Below  them  were  the  enemy's  mine-shafts;  beyond  them 
were  our  own  mine-shafts.  It  was  a  competition  in  blowing 
up  the  tumbled  earth,  and  men  fought  like  devils  with 
bombs  and  bayonets  over  mine-craters  which  had  buried  an- 
other score  or  so  of  men.  The  story  of  Hooge  was  a  serial 
carried  on  from  week  to  week,  but  the  place  was  only  one 
of  our  little  schools  of  war  for  bright  young  men. 

Always  the  City  of  the  Salient — the  ghost-city  of  Ypres 
— stood  as  a  memorial  of  death,  and  of  that  dreadful  day  in 
April  of  191 5  when  the  enemy  first  discharged  his  poison- 
gas,  flung  a  storm  of  great  shells  into  the  streets  and 
strewed  them  and  the  fields  around  with  dead  men,  dead 
horses,  and  dead  women.  I  had  been  first  into  Ypres  in 
March,  when  the  beauty  of  its  Cloth  Hall  and  of  all  its 
churches  and  of  its  quaint  old  houses  was  untouched.  The 
Grande  Place  was  full  of  cheerful  English  soldiers  chaffing 
the  Flemish  girls  at  their  booths  and  stalls,  buying  picture 
post  cards  and  souvenirs  in  the  shops,  and  strolling  into 
the  Cloth  Hall  to  stare  at  the  painted  frescoes  and  the 
richness  of  its  mediseval  decorations.  I  had  tea  with  a  party 
of  officers  in  a  bun-shop  facing  the  Cathedral.  .  .  .  When 
I  went  into  Ypres  again,  a  few  weeks  later,  there  was  a 
great  hole  where  the  bun-shop  had  been  and  only  litters  of 
stone  and  brickwork  where  the  soldiers  had  bought  their 
picture  post  cards,  and  the  Grande  Place  was  a  desert 
about  the  tragic  ruins  of  the  great  Cloth  Hall  and  Cathe- 
dral, which  were  but  skeletons  in  stone  with  broken  arches, 
broken  pillars,  broken  walls  standing  gaunt  above  great 
piles  of  masonry.  The  Horror  had  come,  when  suddenly 
on  the  breath  of  the  wind  a  poisonous  cloud  stole  into  the 
city,  and  there  was  a  wild  stampede  of  people  choking  and 
gasping,  terror-stricken,  black  in  the  face  with  the  struggle 
to  breathe.  British  soldiers  and  Indian  soldiers  joined  the 
flight  of  the  people  of  Ypres  in  a  wild  turmoil  through  the 
streets.  Many  of  them  fell  and  died  on  the  way.  A  des- 
patch-rider rode  the  other  way,  towards  the  poison  cloud. 
He  had  a  message  to  carry  to  the  lines  beyond.    The  gas 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

caught  him  in  the  throat  and  he  fell  off  his  motor-cycle  and 
lay  dead,  while  his  machine  went  on  until  it  crashed  into 
a  wall.  Then  the  storm  of  shells  burst  over  the  city,  fling- 
ing down  houses,  tearing  great  holes  in  them,  and  lighting 
great  bonfires  which  blazed  high,  so  that  from  a  distance 
Ypres  was  one  flaming  torch.  .  .  .  There  were  people  who 
could  not  get  away,  poor  women  and  children  who  were 
caught  in  their  cellars.  One  woman  lay  ill  and  could  not  be 
moved.  An  officer  of  the  R.A.M.C.  promised  to  get  back  to 
her  if  he  could  get  an  ambulance  through  the  fires  and 
shells.  Late  in  the  evening  he  found  her  in  a  field  two  miles 
away  with  a  new-born  baby  by  her  side.  A  young  French 
officer  stayed  with  a  crowd  of  wounded  all  huddled  in  an 
an  underground  drain-pipe  and  tried  to  bandage  them  and 
keep  them  alive  till  other  help  came.  For  four  days  they 
could  not  move  out  of  the  hole,  so  that  it  was  pestilential. 
Two  little  wounded  girls  lay  there  among  the  dead  and 
dying.  One  of  them,  with  eyes  strangely  bright,  talked 
continually  in  a  voice  preternaturally  clear,  sharp  and  metal- 
lic, without  intonation.  She  was  a  Flemish  child,  but 
again  and  again  she  spoke  three  words  of  French :  "Moi, 
morte  demain.  .  .  .  Moi,  morte  demain."  She  died  in  the 
arms  of  the  young  Frenchman.  'T  am  astonished  that  I 
did  not  go  mad,"  says  the  young  Baron  de  Rosen,  remem- 
bering these  hours. 

In  the  summer  of  191 5  I  went  into  Ypres  several  times, 
and  always  the  sinister  horror  of  the  place  put  its  spell  upon 
me.  I  spent  a  night  there  with  a  friend — a  strange,  fan- 
tastic night,  when  shells  came  whirring  overhead,  falling 
with  heavy  crashes  into  the  ruins.  Beyond,  the  line  of  the 
Salient  was  outlined  by  the  white  light  of  flares.  In  aban- 
doned dug-outs  were  wild  cats  who  spat  at  me  when  I 
peered  in.  A  lonely  sentry — poor  boy! — had  the  jim-jams 
and  saw  ghosts  about;  and  truly  Ypres  should  be  full  of 
ghosts  if  they  walk  o'  nights — the  ghosts  of  all  the  men 
who  have  been  buried  alive  here  under  the  fallen  masonry, 
and  have  been  killed  here  by  shells  which  have  dug  enor- 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES         xv 

mous  craters  in  the  roadways.  One  day  two  German  aero- 
planes flung  down  bombs  as  I  stood  in  the  Grande  Place 
staring  at  its  desolation.  I  was  amazed  to  know  how 
qrickly  I  found  a  hole  under  a  wall  which  I  had  not  seen 
before.  .  .  .  Ypres  was  never  a  safe  place,  and  in  the 
minds  of  many  thousands  of  British  soldiers  who  once 
passed  through  its  ruins  it  is  etched  as  one  of  the  ghastly 
pictures  of  war. 

All  through  1915  we  had  in  France  not  an  army  of  attack 
but  an  army  of  defence.  This  was  not  properly  realised  by 
the  people  at  home,  by  our  Allies,  or  by  some  of  our  gen- 
erals. There  were  demands  for  attack  before  we  had 
enough  men  or  enough  guns  or  enough  ammunition.  It  was 
a  tragedy  that  we  had  to  make  several  attacks  without  a  real 
chance  of  success.  Neuve  Chapelle  was  one  of  them.  Loos 
was  another,  more  formidable  and  brilliantly  carried  out 
as  far  as  Hill  70  by  the  15th  (Scottish)  Division  and  the 
47th  (London  Territorial)  Division,  supported  on  their  left 
by  the  9th  (Scottish)  Division  and  co-operating  with  a 
strong  French  attack  on  the  right  along  the  Vimy  Ridge, 
but  unable  to  inflict  as  much  damage  upon  the  enemy  as 
we  suffered  in  the  assault  and  the  following  days  when 
the  Guards  attacked  at  Hulluch. 

It  was  the  first  great  bombardment  of  ours  I  had  seen, 
though  I  had  seen  many  small  ones  since  an  attack  on 
Wyghtschaete  in  March  of  191 5,  and  was  the  first  time 
when  we  showed  any  real  strength  in  massed  artillery,  but 
we  did  not  support  the  first  assault  with  strong  reserves, 
tactical  blunders  were  made,  and  the  enemy  was  able  to 
rally  after  some  hours  of  panic,  when  their  gunners  began 
to  move  away  from  Lens  and  we  had  a  great  chance.  The 
disappointment  came  very  quickly  upon  one's  first  hopes, 
but  to  me  the  memory  of  Loos  is  the  revelation  of  the  as- 
tounding courage  of  those  men  of  the  London,  the  Scottish, 
and  the  Guards  Divisions  who  proved  the  mettle  of  the 
New  Armies  (for  even  most  of  the  Guards  were  new  men) 
and  went  into  battle  with  a  high-spirited  valour  which  could 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

not  have  been  surpassed  by  the  old  Regulars.  The  Scots 
were  played  on  by  their  pipers.  The  London  men  played 
mouth-organs,  dribbled  a  football — as  every  one  knows — 
all  the  way  to  Loos,  and  sang  "Who's  Your  Lady  Friend?" 
amidst  the  crash  of  shell-fire. 

So  now  there  were  other  classrooms  in  the  school  of 
war — the  Hohenzollern  Redoubt,  Hulluch,  Loos,  and  other 
hot  spots  in  that  broad,  flat,  barren,  villainous  plain  pimpled 
by  black  slag-heaps — Fosse  8  and  Fosse  14  bis — which  one 
approached  through  miles  of  communication-trenches  under 
the  whirring  of  many  shells.  I  went  to  these  places  when 
the  battle  was  on,  and  afterwards.  Quite  a  long  way  away 
from  them  there  were  spots  where  one  hated  to  linger,  and 
through  which  one  had  to  pass  to  get  to  the  battlefields. 
Noyelles-les-Vermelles  was  one  of  them,  and  I  had  some 
nasty  hours  there  when  I  went  for  afternoon  tea  with  some 
officers  and  found  the  enemy  searching  for  that  house  with 
four-inch  shells,  which  knocked  out  three  gunners  in  the 
back  yard  just  as  I  arrived,  and  killed  some  horses  as  I 
walked  across  the  field  between  the  bursting  crumps — there 
was  a  blue  sky  overhead  and  fleecy  clouds  and  a  golden  sun- 
shine— to  a  hall  door  where  a  number  of  young  men  were 
expecting  death — disliking  it  exceedingly,  but  chatting  about 
trivial  things  with  occasional  laughter  which  did  not  ring 
quite  true.  Vermelles  was  another  of  them,  and  I  never 
went  without  foreboding  into  that  village  of  ruins  where 
the  French  had  fought  like  tigers  from  garden  to  garden 
and  house  to  house  before  the  capture  of  the  chateau — do 
you  remember  how  they  fought  on  the  ground  floor  with  the 
Germans  above  and  below  them,  until  the  first-floor  ceiling 
gave  way  and  Germans  came  through  and  a  young  French 
lieutenant  swung  a  marble  Venus  round  his  head  in  the 
midst  of  a  writhing  mob  of  men  clutching  at  each  other's 
throats?  Shells  made  smaller  dust  day  by  day  of  all  these 
rubbish-heaps  and  bigger  holes  in  the  standing  walls.  The 
smell  of  poison-gas  reeked  from  the  bricks  and  the  litter. 
Other  smells  lurked  about  like  obscene  spectres.     At  any 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES       xvii 

moment  of  the  day  or  night  death  might  come  here,  and  did, 
without  warning.  .  .  .  Higher  up  one  felt  safer  in  the  wind- 
ing ditches  leading  to  the  front  lines.  But  it  was  the  ostrich 
sense  of  safety.  One  had  only  to  moimt  a  sandbag  and 
glance  over  the  side  of  the  trench  to  see  how  the  enemy's 
"crumps"  were  flinging  up  fountains  of  earth  in  all  directions. 
They  came  whining  with  their  high  gobbling  notes  over- 
head. Dead  bodies  lay  about.  Up  in  the  front  trenches,  by 
Hulluch  and  the  Hohenzollern,  men  lived  always  close  to 
mine-shafts  which  might  open  the  earth  beneath  them  at 
any  moment  and  bury  them  or  hurl  them  high.  There  were 
bombing  fights  on  the  lips  of  the  shell-craters.  In  some 
places  a  few  yards  only  separated  British  soldiers  and  Ger- 
man soldiers.  They  fought  with  each  other  in  saps.  It 
was  another  Hooge. 

I  was  only  a  looker-on  and  reporter  of  other  men's  cour- 
age and  sacrifice — a  miserable  game,  rather  wearing  to  the 
nerves  and  spirit.  There  were  many  places  to  visit  along 
the  front,  and  although  they  were  not  places  where  it  is 
agreeable  to  pass  a  few  hours  for  amusement's  sake,  there 
was  an  immense  interest  in  these  peep-shows  of  war  where 
one  saw  the  real  thing  and  the  spirit  of  it  all  and  the  ugli- 
ness, and  the  simple  heroism  of  the  men  there.  "Plug 
Street"  was  the  elementary  training  school  for  many  of  the 
new  divisions,  with  a  touch  of  Arcadia  in  its  woods  in  spite 
of  the  snipers'  bullets  which  came  "zip-zip"  through  the 
branches  and  the  brushwood  fringes  along  the  outer  walks, 
past  which  one  had  to  creep  warily  lest  watchful  eyes  should 
see  one  and  stop  one  dead.  A  fairly  safe  place  "Plug 
Street"  was  supposed  to  be,  but  men  were  killed  there  all 
right — each  time  I  went  I  saw  a  dead  body  carried  down 
one  of  the  glades — and  at  Hyde  Park  Corner,  on  the  edge 
of  it,  a  colleague  of  mine  was  hit  in  the  stomach  by  the 
nose  of  a  shell,  and  here  I  first  heard  the  voice  of  "Percy,"  a 
high-velocity  fellow  who  kills  you  before  you  know  he  is 
coming. 

Then  there  was  Kemmel  and  its  neighbourhood  for  an 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

afternoon's  adventure  any  time  one  liked  to  be  brave  or  felt 
inclined  to  look  down  into  the  German  trenches  from  Hill 
65,  which  gave  a  very  fine  view  of  them,  up  above  Kemmel 
village,  strafed  into  a  miserable  huddle  of  ruins  and  damna- 
bly sinister  about  the  deep  shell-craters  and  the  overthrown 
crosses  in  a  wrecked  churchyard.  I  went  there  one  day  in 
a  snowstorm,  and  coming  back  out  of  its  desolation — where 
plucky  young  men  lived  with  their  guns  and  wondered  now 
and  then,  at  their  mess-table  in  a  broken  barn,  whose  num- 
ber would  be  written  up  next — saw  a  man  in  full  evening 
dress  without  an  overcoat  and  with  a  bowler-hat  upon  his 
head,  walking  in  a  leisurely  way  through  the  snowflakes  and 
past  the  churchyard  with  its  opened  graves.  A  fantastic 
figure  to  meet  on  a  battlefield,  but  not  madder  than  many 
things  in  this  mad  dream  which  is  war. 

Up  in  the  trenches  at  Neuve  Chapelle,  beyond  the  ruins  of 
Croix  Barbee,  there  were  bits  of  open  country  across  which 
one  had  to  sprint  between  one  trench  and  another  because 
of  German  machine-guns  trained  upon  them  day  and  night. 
I  ran  across  them  on  Christmas  Day  to  wish  good  luck  to 
some  country  boys  who  were  sitting  in  puddles  below  the 
fire-step  and  chatting  with  grave  irony  about  peace  on  earth, 
goodwill  to  men,  and  the  Christmas  stockings — waders, 
really — which  they  had  hung  up  outside  their  dug-outs  to 
see  how  the  trick  would  work  in  war-time.  It  hadn't 
worked,  and  they  groused  against  Santa  Claus  and  laughed 
at  this  little  joke  of  theirs  to  hide  the  sentiment  in  their 
hearts. 

Festubert  and  Givenchy,  Armentieres  and  Houplines,  were 
other  familiar  places  which  one  approached  through  ruins 
before  getting  into  the  ditches  where  the  British  Army  was 
learning  its  lessons.  Then  as  the  armies  grew  the  British 
line  was  lengthened  and  we  took  over  from  the  French, 
from  Hebuterne  to  Vaux-sur-Somme,  and  afterwards,  in 
February,  when  the  Germans  began  their  great  attack  upon 
Verdun,  from  the  Vimy  Ridge  to  the  south  of  Arrays. 
There  was  plenty  of  room  here  for  the  new  Divisions  who 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES        xix 

were  coming  out  to  learn,  and  plenty  of  practical  object- 
lessons  in  the  abominable  business  of  war.  We  learnt  a  lot 
of  French  geography,  and  dozens  of  small  villages  unknown 
before  to  history  are  now  famous  among  British  soldiers  as 
places  where  they  lived  under  daily  shell-fire,  where  they 
escaped  death  by  the  queerest  flukes,  or  where  they  were 
hit  at  last  after  a  thousand  escapes. 

Sailly-au-Bois  was  a  village  on  the  way  to  Hebuterne.  A 
charming  little  place  it  must  have  been  once,  with  quaint 
old  cottages  and  a  market  square.  When  I  went  there  first 
the  Germans  disliked  it,  plugged  shells  into  most  of  the 
houses  and  into  one  where  a  number  of  Sussex  gentlemen 
were  sitting  down  to  lunch.  It  spoilt  their  meal  for  them 
and  made  a  new  entrance  through  the  dining-room  wall.  Be- 
yond the  village  was  the  road  to  Hebuterne.  It  led  through 
open  fields  and  past  a  belt  of  trees  less  than  a  thousand 
yards  away,  where  the  Germans  lay  watching  behind  their 
rifle-barrels.  But  the  French  had  made  a  friendly  little  ar- 
rangement. If  an  open  car  crawled  down  slowly  the  Ger- 
mans did  not  snipe.  If  it  were  a  covered  car,  presumably 
a  General's,  or  went  fast,  they  had  the  right  to  shoot. 
Queer,  though  it  seemed  to  work.  But  I  was  always  glad 
to  get  the  length  of  that  road  and  to  find  some  cover  in  the 
fortress-village  of  Hebuterne,  with  its  deep  dug-outs,  proof 
against  the  lighter  kind  of  shells.  The  Germans  had  been 
here  first  and  had  dug  in  with  their  usual  industry.  Then 
the  French  had  turned  them  out  after  ferocious  fighting — 
there  are  many  French  graves  there  in  the  Orchard  and  in 
the  trenches,  and  a  little  altar  still  kept  in  good  order  by 
British  soldiers  to  Notre-Dame-des-Tranchees ;  they  had 
gone  on  digging  and  strengthening  the  place,  and  when  our 
men  took  over  the  ground  they  continued  the  fortifications, 
so  that  it  was  a  model  of  defensive  work.  But  the  Ger- 
mans shelled  it  with  method,  and  it  was  safer  below  ground 
than  above.  In  the  Orchard  young  fruit  of  life  fell  before 
it  had  ripened,  and  I  did  not  like  to  linger  there  among  the 
apple-trees. 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

The  taking  over  of  Arras  and  its  neighbourhood  down 
from  the  Vimy  Ridge  to  Souchez,  Ablain-St.-Nazaire,  La 
Targette,  Neuville-St.-Vaast — the  very  names  make  me 
feel  cold — liberated  a  complete  French  army  for  the  defence 
of  Verdun,  and  it  was  our  biggest  service  to  France  before 
the  battles  of  the  Somme. 

I  went  into  Arras  and  saw  the  despoiled  beauty  of  this  old 
city  of  Artois,  silent  and  desolate,  in  its  ruined  gardens 
where  white  statues  lay  in  the  rank  grass,  except  when  shells 
opened  great  craters  in  the  Grande  Place  or  tore  of¥  a  gable 
from  one  of  the  Spanish  houses  in  the  Petite  Place,  or  came 
crashing  into  the  wreckage  of  the  railway  station  or  knocked 
a  few  more  stones  out  of  the  immense  walls  of  the  Cathe- 
dral and  the  Bishop's  Palace,  through  which  I  wandered, 
gazing  up  long  vistas  of  white  ruin.  In  the  suburbs  of  St.- 
Laurent  and  St. -Nicholas  the  enemy  was  very  close  across 
the  garden  walls,  and  in  the  Maison  Rouge  one  had  to  tip- 
toe and  talk  in  whispers  by  chinks  in  the  wall  (there  was  a 
rosewood  piano  in  the  front  room),  through  which  one 
could  look  at  the  enemy's  sandbags  a  few  yards  away. 
Wrinkled  old  women  and  wan-faced  girls  lived  still  in  the 
deep  cellars  of  the  city,  coming  up  for  a  little  simlight  when 
the  air  was  quiet,  and  scuttling  down  again  at  the  scream  of 
a  shell.  In  the  dusk  small  boys  roamed  the  broken  streets, 
searched  among  the  litter  of  stones  for  shrapnel-bullets  for 
games  of  marbles  (I  once  played  such  a  game  in  a  night  at 
Ypres),  and  cocked  a  snook  at  German  shells  falling  a  street 
or  two  away.  Our  soldiers  became  familiar  with  all  these 
places,  strode  through  them  with  that  curious  matter-of-fact 
way  of  the  British  Tommy,  who  makes  himself  at  home  in 
hell-on-earth  as  though  it  were  the  usual  thing,  and  in  Sou- 
chez, Neuville-St.-Vaast,  Ablain-St.-Nazaire,  and  on  the 
ridge  of  Notre-Dame-de-Lorette  held  the  lines  in  spite  of 
five-point-nines,  aerial  torpedoes,  every  kind  of  high-explo- 
sive force  which  tried  to  blast  them  out.  For  miles  the 
ground  was  strewn  with  "duds" — so  that  one  had  to  pick 


THE  COMING  OF  ^HE  NEW  ARMIES        xxi 

one's  way  lest  one  should  kick  a  fuse — ^and  with  the  litter 
of  men's  clothes  and  bodies. 

The  months  passed.  Spring  came,  and  nightingales  sang 
in  the  bushes  of  old  French  chateaux  and  the  woodpecker 
laughed  in  the  forest  glades;  the  fields  were  strewn  with 
flowers,  and  the  beauty  of  France  sang  a  great  song  in  one's 
heart.  The  wheat  grew  tall  and  green.  And  all  this  time 
the  roads  in  the  British  war-zone  were  becoming  more 
crowded  with  the  traffic  of  men  and  horses  and  guns  and 
lorries — miles  of  motor-lorries — as  new  Divisions  came  out, 
with  belts  and  harness  looking  very  fresh,  making  their  way 
slowly  forward  to  the  firing-lines  to  learn  their  lesson  like 
others  who  had  gone  before  them.  The  billeting  areas 
widened,  became  congested  districts  from  Boulogne  to  the 
Somme.  In  Picardy  and  Artois  there  was  khaki  every- 
where. In  old  market-places  of  St.-Omer,  Bailleul,  Be- 
thune,  St.-Pol,  Hesdin,  Fruges,  Doullens,  our  Tommies  jos- 
tled among  the  stalls  and  booths,  among  the  old  women 
and  girls  and  blue-coated  "poilus,"  making  friends  with 
them,  learning  a  wonderful  lingua  franca,  settling  down  into 
the  queer  life,  which  alternated  between  the  trenches  and  the 
billets,  as  though  it  would  last  for  ever. 

The  human  picture  changed.  New  types  of  men  arrived 
and  some  of  the  old  stagers  departed.  The  Indian  infantry 
also  went,  and  the  flat  fields  behind  Neuve  Chapelle,  where 
the  canals  cut  straight  between  the  rushes,  lost  those  grave, 
sad-eyed,  handsome  men  who  seemed  like  fairy-book  princes 
to  the  French  peasants,  whose  language  they  had  learnt  to 
speak  with  a  courtesy,  and  with  soft,  simple  manners  which 
won  the  friendship  of  these  people.  In  the  winter  trenches 
the  Indians  had  shivered ;  in  the  dank  mists  across  the  flats 
they  had  wandered  dolefully.  They  had  fought  gallantly 
under  officers  who  sacrificed  their  own  lives  with  noble  de- 
votion, but  they  hated  modern  shell-fire  and  all  the  misery 
of  trench-warfare  in  a  wet,  cold  climate,  and  were,  I  think, 
glad  to  go. 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

The  Australians  came,  and  for  the  first  time  we  saw  in 
France  those  bronzed,  hatchet-faced,  handsome  fellows  who 
brought  a  new  character  of  splendid  manhood  into  the  med- 
ley of  British  types.  The  New  Zealanders  followed,  with 
Maoris  among  them.  The  Canadians  were  adding  many 
new  battalions  to  their  strength.  The  South  African  Scot- 
tish sent  more  kilts  swinging  down  the  roads  of  war.  There 
were  Newfoundlanders,  West  Indians  from  Barbados.  All 
the  Empire  was  sending  her  men.     For  what? 

That  was  the  question  which  we  were  all  asking.  How 
and  when  were  these  men  going  to  be  used?  The  months 
were  dragging  on  and  there  was  no  great  attack.  There 
had  been  savage  fighting  on  a  small  scale  up  in  the  Salient  at 
St.-Eloi  and  the  Bluff.  The  Canadians  lost  ground  under  a 
sudden  storm  of  shell-fire  which  flattened  out  their  trenches, 
and  retook  it  after  bloody  counter-attacks.  The  Vimy 
Ridge  had  seen  heavy  and  costly  fighting  which  gained  noth- 
ing. All  along  the  line  there  were  raids  into  the  enemy's 
trenches,  but  it  was  Red  Indian  warfare  and  not  the  big 
thing.  France,  after  four  months  of  desperate  fighting  at 
Verdun,  asked  when  the  English  were  going  to  strike.  And 
British  soldiers  who  had  been  in  and  out  of  the  trenches, 
month  after  month,  seeing  heavy  losses  mount  up  by  the 
usual  daily  toll,  with  nothing  to  show  for  them,  began  to 
despair  a  little.  Was  it  going  on  for  ever  like  this?  This 
existence  was  intolerable.  To  sit  in  a  trench  and  be  shelled 
to  death — what  was  the  sense  of  '  it  ?  At  the  mess-table 
there  were  men  who  found  the  world  all  black,  the  war  a 
monstrous  horror,  an  outrage  to  God  and  life.  I  had  queer 
conversations  with  men  in  dug-outs,  in  wooden  huts  under 
shell-fire,  in  French  chateaux  inhabited  by  British  officers, 
and  heard  the  secrets  of  men's  souls,  their  protests  against 
the  doom  that  had  enchained  them,  their  perplexities,  their 
strivings  to  find  some  spiritual  meaning  in  the  devilish  ap- 
pearance of  things,  their  revolt  against  the  brutality  and 
senselessness  of  war,  their  ironic  laughter  at  the  bloody  con- 
trast between   Christian  teaching  and  Christian  practice, 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES      xxiii 

their  blind  gropings  for  some  light  in  all  the  darkness  and 
damnation. 

Then  suddenly  all  changed.  The  "Big  Push"  was  to  come 
at  last.  Trench  warfare  was  to  end,  and  all  this  great  army 
of  ours  in  France  was  to  get  out  of  its  ditches  and  out  into 
the  open  and  strike.  Enormous  hope  took  the  place  of  the 
doubts  and  dolefulness  that  had  begun  to  possess  men  of 
melancholy  minds.  It  would  be  a  chance  of  ending  the 
business.  At  least  we  had  the  strength  to  deliver  a  smash- 
ing, perhaps  a  decisive,  blow.  All  our  two  years  of  organi- 
sation and  training  and  building  up  would  be  put  to  the 
test,  and  the  men  were  sure  of  themselves,  confident  in  the 
new  power  of  our  artillery,  which  was  tremendous,  without 
a  doubt  in  the  spirit  of  attack  which  would  inspire  all  our 
battalions.    They  would  fight  with  the  will  to  win. 

So  we  came  to  July  i,  that  day  so  great  in  hope,  in 
achievement,  and  in  tragedy,  and  what  happened  then  and 
for  three  and  a  half  months  of  fighting  days  is  told  in  the 
articles  now  printed  in  this  book.  I  might  have  rewritten 
them,  polished  their  style,  put  in  new  facts  here  and  there, 
and  written  a  narrative  of  history  with  a  more  considered 
judgment  than  was  possible  day  by  day.  But  I  have  thought 
it  best  to  let  them  stand  as  they  were  written  at  great  speed, 
sometimes  in  utter  exhaustion  of  body  and  brain,  but  always 
with  the  emotion  that  comes  from  the  hot  impress  of  new 
and  tremendous  sensations.  They  may  hold  some  qualities 
that  would  be  lost  if  I  wrote  them  with  more  coldness  and 
criticism  of  words  and  phrases.  Even  the  repetition  of  in- 
cidents and  impressions  has  some  value,  for  that  is  true  of 
modem  warfare — a  continual  repetition  of  acts  and  sounds, 
sights  and  smells  and  emotions. 

The  method  of  attack  has  become  a  formula — the  intense 
preliminary  bombardment  almost  annihilating  the  enemy's 
front  trenches  (but  not  all  his  dug-outs),  the  advance  across 
No  Man's  Land  under  the  enemy's  curtain-fire,  the  rush 
over  the  enemy's  broken  parapets  in  the  face  of  machine-gun 
fire,  the  bombing-out  of  the  dug-outs,  the  taking  of  pris- 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

oners.  One  captured  "village"  destroyed  utterly  by  shell- 
fire  days  before  the  final  attack  upon  its  earth-works  is  ex- 
actly like  another  in  its  rubbish-heaps  of  bricks  and  wood- 
work. The  pictures  repeat  themselves.  Heroic  acts — the 
knocking-out  of  a  machine-gun,  the  bombing  down  a  section 
of  trench,  the  rescue  of  wounded — repeat  themselves  also 
through  all  the  battles.  In  my  chronicles  these  repetitions 
will  be  found,  and  the  effect  of  them  on  the  reader's  mind 
should  be  the  effect  in  a  faint,  far-off  way  of  the  real  truth. 
Some  people  imagine,  and  some  critics  have  written,  that 
the  war  correspondents  with  the  armies  in  France  have  been 
"spoon-fed"  with  documents  and  facts  given  to  them  by 
General  Headquarters,  from  which  they  write  up  their  des- 
patches. They  recognise  the  same  incident,  told  in  different 
style  by  different  correspondents,  and  say,  "Ah,  that  is  how 
it  is  done!"  They  are  wrong.  All  that  we  get  from  the 
General  Staff  are  the  brief  bulletins  of  the  various  army 
corps,  a  line  or  two  of  hard  news  about  the  capture  or  loss 
of  this  or  that  trench,  such  as  appears  afterwards  in  the 
official  communiques.  For  all  the  details  of  an  action  we 
have  to  rely  upon  our  own  efforts  in  the  actual  theatre  of 
operations  day  by  day,  seeing  as  much  of  the  battle  as  it  is 
possible  to  see  ( sometimes  one  can  see  everything  and  some- 
times nothing  but  smoke  and  bursting  shells),  getting  into 
the  swirl  and  traffic  of  the  battlefields,  talking  to  the  walk- 
ing wounded  and  prisoners,  the  men  going  in  and  the  men 
coming  out,  going  to  headquarters  of  brigades,  divisions, 
and  corps  for  exact  information  as  to  the  progress  of  the 
battle  from  the  generals  and  officers  directing  the  opera- 
tions, and  getting  into  touch  as  soon  as  possible  with  the 
battalions  actually  engaged.  All  this  is  not  as  easy  as  it 
sounds.  It  is  not  done  without  fatigue,  and  mental  as  well 
as  physical  strain.  It  takes  one  into  unpleasant  places  from 
which  one  is  glad  and  lucky  to  get  back.  But  we  have  full 
facilities  for  seeing  and  knowing  the  truth  of  things,  and 
see  more  and  know  more  of  the  whole  battle-line  than  is 
possible  even  to  Divisional  Generals  and  other  officers  in 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES       xxv 

high  command.  For  we  have  a  pass  enabling  us  to  go  to 
any  part  of  the  front  at  any  time  and  get  the  facts  and 
points  of  view  from  every  class  and  rank,  from  the  trenches 
to  G.H.Q.  Because  the  correspondents  sometimes  tell  the 
same  stories  it  is  because  we  tell  them  to  each  other,  not 
believing  in  professional  rivalry  in  a  war  of  this  greatness. 
Our  only  limitations  in  truth-telling  are  those  of  our  own 
vision,  skill,  and  conscience  under  the  discipline  of  the  mili- 
tary censorship.  I  have  no  personal  quarrel  with  that  cen- 
sorship— though  all  censorship  is  hateful.  After  many  al- 
terations in  method  and  principle  it  was  exercised  through- 
out the  battles  of  the  Somme  (and  for  months  before  that, 
when  there  was  no  conspiracy  of  silence  but  only  the  lack 
of  great  events  to  chronicle)  with  a  really  broad-minded 
policy  of  allowing  the  British  people  to  know  the  facts 
about  their  fighting  men  save  those  which  would  give  the 
enemy  a  chance  of  spoiling  our  plans  or  hurting  us.  If 
there  had  been  no  censorship  at  all  it  would  be  impossible 
for  an  honourable  correspondent  to  tell  some  things  within 
his  knowledge — our  exact  losses  in  a  certain  action,  failures 
at  this  or  that  point  of  the  line,  tactical  blunders  which 
might  have  been  made  here  or  there,  the  disposition  or 
movement  of  troops,  the  positions  of  batteries  and  observa- 
tion-posts. 

These  are  things  which  the  enemy  must  not  know.  So 
I  do  not  think  that  during  the  whole  of  the  Somme  fighting 
there  was  more  than  a  line  or  two  taken  out  of  one  or  the 
other  of  my  despatches,  and  with  the  exception  of  those 
words  they  are  printed  as  they  were  written.  They  tell  the 
truth.  There  is  not  one  word,  I  vow,  of  conscious  falsehood 
in  them.  But  they  do  not  tell  all  the  truth.  I  have  had  to 
spare  the  feelings  of  men  and  women  who  have  sons  and 
husbands  still  fighting  in  France.  I  have  not  told  all  there 
is  to  tell  about  the  agonies  of  this  war,  nor  given  in  full  real- 
ism the  horrors  that  are  inevitable  in  such  fighting.  It  is 
perhaps  better  not  to  do  so,  here  and  now,  although  it  is  a 
moral  cowardice  which  makes  many  people  shut  their  eyes 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

to  the  shambles,  comforting  their  souls  with  fine  phrases 
about  the  beauty  of  sacrifice. 

One  thing  hurt  me  badly  in  writing  my  accounts  and 
hurts  me  still.  For  military  reasons  I  have  not  been  permit- 
ted to  give  the  names  of  all  the  troops  engaged  from  day 
to  day,  but  only  a  few  names  allowed  by  our  Intelligence. 
The  Germans  were  counting  up  our  divisions,  reckoning 
how  many  men  we  had  in  reserve,  how  many  were  against 
them  in  the  lines.  It  was  not  for  us  to  help  them  in  this 
arithmetic.  But  it  is  hard  on  the  men  and  on  their  people. 
They  do  not  get  that  immediate  fame  and  honour  for  their 
regiments  which  they  have  earned  by  the  splendour  of  their 
courage  and  achievements.  It  is  not  my  fault,  for  I  would 
give  all  their  names  if  I  could,  and  tire  out  my  wrist  in 
praising  them  if  it  could  give  them  a  little  spark  of  pleasure 
and  pride.  But,  after  all,  each  man  who  fought  on  the 
Somme  shares  the  general  honour  which  belongs  to  all  of 
them. 

The  correspondents  with  the  armies  in  the  field  do  not 
prophesy  or  criticise  or  sit  in  judgment.  That  is  not  within 
our  orders,  and  belongs  to  the  liberty  of  writing-men  who 
sit  at  home  with  their  maps  and  the  official  bulletins  and  our 
despatches  from  the  front.  "There  is  not  one  of  these  in- 
dustrious men,"  writes  a  critic  of  our  work,  "who  has  had 
the  experience  to  form  a  military  judgment."  Well,  that  is 
as  may  be,  though  we  have  had  more  experience  of  war  than 
most  men  will  have,  I  think,  for  another  fifty  years.  In  our 
own  mess  we  are  critics  and  prophets  and  judges,  and  I 
fancy  we  could  give  a  point  or  two  to  the  experts  at  home, 
and,  with  luck,  later  on,  may  do  so.  Now  in  the  war-zone 
we  are  but  chroniclers  of  the  fighting  day  by  day,  trying  to 
get  the  facts  as  fully  as  possible  and  putting  them  down  as 
clearly  as  they  appear  out  of  the  turmoil  of  battle.  Even 
now  in  this  Introduction  I  shall  attempt  no  summing  up  of 
the  results  achieved  by  these  battles  of  the  Somme,  except 
by  saying  that  by  enormous  sacrifices,  by  individual  cour- 
age beyond  the  normal  laws  of  human  nature  as  I  thought 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  NEW  ARMIES      xxvli 

I  knew  them  once,  by  great  efficiency  in  organisation  and  a 
resolute  purpose  not  checked  or  weakened  by  any  obstacles, 
our  troops  broke  through  positions  which  the  enemy  be- 
lieved, and  had  a  right  to  believe,  impregnable,  carried  by 
assault  his  first,  second,  and  third  systems  of  trenches,  drew 
in  his  reserves  with  many  guns  and  men  from  Verdun  so 
that  the  French  could  counter-attack  with  brilliant  success, 
and  inflicted  upon  the  enemy  heavy  and  irreparable  loss 
which,  as  we  hope  and  believe,  though  with  imperfect  knowl- 
edge, he  cannot  afford  without  weakening  his  line  of  de- 
fence on  our  own  front  and  facing  our  Allies.  These  ham- 
mer-strokes were  not  decisive  in  victory.  I  believe  that  the 
German  strength  of  resistance  and  attack  is  still  great.  I 
do  not  see  a  quick  ending  of  this  most  horrible  massacre  in 
the  fields  of  Europe.  But  it  was  only  the  weather  which 
stopped  for  a  time  our  forward  progress  when  at  the  end 
of  October  the  rain-storms  made  all  the  battlefield  a  swamp 
and  obscured  the  observation  which  our  men  had  won  by 
three  months  and  a  half  of  uphill  fighting  and  desperate 
strife.  Even  then  in  the  mud  they  took  many  more  prison- 
ers in  heavy  fighting  up  by  the  Stuff  and  Schwaben  Redoubts 
which  the  enemy  hated  us  to  hold  because  of  their  domi- 
nating ground  to  the  north  of  Thiepval — and  then  in  the 
fog  made  that  great,  audacious  attack  on  Beaumont-Hamel, 
which  captured  one  of  the  strongest  positions  against  our 
own  front  with  over  6,000  prisoners.  Of  that  last  attack  I 
saw  nothing,  being  home  on  sick-leave. 

I  must  say  a  word  or  two  about  the  Tanks.  After  the 
first  great  surprise,  the  exaltation  of  spirits  caused  by  these 
new  motor-monsters,  there  followed  a  disappointment  in  the 
public  mind  and  even  among  our  soldiers.  Some  of  the  in- 
fantry, poor  lads,  hoped  that  at  last  the  enemy's  deadly  ma- 
chine-gun fire  would  be  killed  by  these  things  and  that  in 
future  infantry  attacks  would  be  a  walk-over  behind  the 
Tanks.  That  was  hoping  too  much.  It  would  require  thou- 
sands of  Tanks  to  do  that  and  we  had  only  a  few.  But  I 
have  the  record  of  what  each  Tank  did  in  action  up  to  the 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION 

middle  of  October,  and  it  leaves  no  room  for  doubt  that, 
balancing  success  with  failure,  these  new  machines  of  war 
have  justified  their  inventors  a  hundred-fold.  They  saved 
many  casualties  at  certain  points  of  the  line  and  helped  to 
gain  many  important  positions,  as  at  Thiepval  and  Flers, 
Courcelette  and  Martinpuich.  If  we  had  enough  of  them 
— and  it  would  be  a  big  number — trench  warfare  would  go 
for  ever  and  machine-gun  redoubts  would  lose  their  terror. 
The  battles  of  the  Somme — as  we  call  this  fighting,  curi- 
ously, for  on  our  side  it  is  not  very  near  the  Somme — are 
not  yet  finished.  As  I  write  these  words  it  is  only  a  lull 
which  seems  to  end  them,  and  does  end  at  least  the  first 
phase  with  which  I  deal  in  the  pages  that  follow.  They  are 
pages  written  on  the  evenings  of  battle  hastily  and  some- 
times feverishly,  after  days  of  intense  experience  and  tiring 
sensation.  Yet  there  is  in  them  and  through  them  one  pas- 
sionate purpose.  It  is  to  reveal  to  our  people  and  the  world 
the  high  valour,  the  self-sacrificing  discipline  of  soul,  the 
supreme  endurance  of  those  men  of  ours  who  fought  and 
suffered  great  agonies  and  died,  and  if  not  killed  or 
wounded,  came  out  to  rest  a  little  while  and  fight  again, 
not  liking  it,  you  understand — ^hating  it  like  the  hell  it  is — 
but  doing  their  duty,  with  a  great  and  glorious  devotion, 
according  to  the  light  that  is  in  them. 


THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


I 

THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY 

I 

With  the  British  Armies  in  the  Field,  July  i,  1916 

The  attack  which  was  launched  to-day  against  the  German 
Hnes  on  a  20-mile  front  began  well.  It  is  not  yet  a  victory, 
for  victory  comes  at  the  end  of  a  battle,  and  this  is  only  a 
beginning.  But  our  troops,  fighting  with  very  splendid 
valour,  have  swept  across  the  enemy's  front  trenches  along 
a  great  part  of  the  line  of  attack,  and  have  captured  villages 
and  strongholds  which  the  Germans  have  long  held  against 
us.  They  are  fighting  their  way  forward  not  easily  but 
doggedly.  Many  hundreds  of  the  enemy  are  prisoners  in 
our  hands.    His  dead  lie  thick  in  the  track  of  our  regiments. 

And  so,  after  the  first  day  of  battle,  we  may  say :  It  is, 
on  balance,  a  good  day  for  England  and  France.  It  is  a  day 
of  promise  in  this  war,  in  which  the  blood  of  brave  men  is 
poured  out  upon  the  sodden  fields  of  Europe. 

For  nearly  a  week  now  we  have  been  bombarding  the 
enemy's  lines  from  the  Yser  to  the  Somme.  Those  of  us 
who  have  watched  this  bombardment  knew  the  meaning  of 
it.  We  knew  that  it  was  the  preparation  for  this  attack. 
All  those  raids  of  the  week  which  I  have  recorded  from  day 
to  day  were  but  leading  to  a  greater  raid  when  not  hun- 
dreds of  men  but  hundreds  of  thousands  would  leave  their 
trenches  and  go  forward  in  a  great  assault. 

We  had  to  keep  the  secret,  to  close  our  lips  tight,  to  write 
vague  words  lest  the  enemy  should  get  a  hint  too  soon,  and 
the  strain  was  great  upon  us  and  the  suspense  an  ordeal  to 

21 


««  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  nerves,  because  as  the  hours  went  by  they  drew  nearer 
to  the  time  when  great  masses  of  our  men,  those  splendid 
young  men  who  have  gone  marching  along  the  roads  of 
France,  would  be  sent  into  the  open,  out  of  the  ditches 
where  they  got  cover  from  the  German  fire. 

This  secret  was  foreshadowed  by  many  signs.  Travel- 
ling along  the  roads  we  saw  new  guns  arriving — heavy 
guns  and  field-guns,  week  after  week.  We  were  building 
up  a  great  weight  of  metal. 

Passing  them,  men  raised  their  eyebrows  and  smiled 
grimly.  ...  A  tide  of  men  flowed  in  from  the  ports  of 
France — new  men  of  new  divisions.  They  passed  to  some 
part  of  the  front,  disappeared  for  a  while,  were  met  again 
in  fields  and  billets,  looking  harder,  having  stories  to  tell  of 
trench  life  and  raids. 

The  Army  was  growing.  There  was  a  mass  of  men  here 
in  France,  and  some  day  they  would  be  ready,  trained 
enough,  hard  enough,  to  strike  a  big  blow. 

A  week  or  two  ago  the  whisper  passed,  "We're  going  to 
attack."  But  no  more  than  that,  except  behind  closed  doors 
of  the  mess-room.  Somehow  by  the  look  on  men's  faces, 
by  their  silences  and  thought  fulness,  one  could  guess  that 
something  was  to  happen. 

There  was  a  thrill  in  the  air,  a  thrill  from  the  pulse  of 
men  who  know  the  meaning  of  attack.  Would  it  be  in 
June  or  July?  .  .  .  The  fields  of  France  were  very  beauti- 
ful this  June.  There  were  roses  in  the  gardens  of  old 
French  chateaux.  Poppies  put  a  flame  of  colour  in  the 
fields,  close  up  to  the  trenches,  and  there  were  long  stretches 
of  gold  across  the  countryside.  A  pity  that  all  this  should 
be  spoilt  by  the  pest  of  war. 

So  some  of  us  thought,  but  not  many  soldiers.  After  the 
misery  of  a  wet  winter  and  the  expectations  of  the  spring 
they  were  keen  to  get  out  of  the  trenches  again.  All  their 
training  led  up  to  that.  The  spirit  of  the  men  was  for  an 
assault  across  the  open,  and  they  were  confident  in  the  new 
power  of  our  guns.  .  .  . 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  28 

The  guns  spoke  one  morning  last  week  with  a  louder 
voice  than  has  yet  been  heard  upon  the  front,  and  as  they 
crashed  out  we  knew  that  it  was  the  signal  for  the  new 
attack.  Their  fire  increased  in  intensity,  covering  raids  at 
many  points  of  the  line,  until  at  last  all  things  were  ready 
for  the  biggest  raid. 


The  scene  of  the  battlefields  at  night  was  of  terrible 
beauty.  I  motored  out  to  it  from  a  town  behind  the  lines, 
where  through  their  darkened  windows  French  citizens 
watched  the  illumination  of  the  sky,  throbbing  and  flashing 
to  distant  shellfire.  Behind  the  lines  the  villages  were 
asleep,  without  the  twinkle  of  a  lamp  in  any  window.  The 
shadow  forms  of  sentries  paced  up  and  down  outside  the 
stone  archways  of  old  French  houses. 

Here  and  there  on  the  roads  a  lantern  waved  to  and  fro, 
and  its  rays  gleamed  upon  the  long  bayonet  and  steel  casque 
of  a  French  Territorial,  and  upon  the  bronzed  face  of  an 
English  soldier,  who  came  forward  to  stare  closely  at  a 
piece  of  paper  which  allowed  a  man  to  go  into  the  fires  of 
hell  up  there.  It  was  an  English  voice  that  gave  the  first 
challenge,  and  then  called  out  "Good-night"  with  a  strange 
and  unofficial  friendliness  as  a  greeting  to  men  who  were 
going  towards  the  guns. 

The  fields  on  the  edge  of  the  battle  of  guns  were  very 
peaceful.  A  faint  breeze  stirred  the  tall  wheat,  above  which 
there  floated  a  milky  light  transfusing  the  darkness.  The 
poppy  fields  still  glowed  redly,  and  there  was  a  ghnt  of  gold 
from  long  stretches  of  mustard  flower.  Beyond,  the  woods 
stood  black  against  the  sky  above  little  hollows  where  British 
soldiers  were  encamped. 

There  by  the  light  of  candles  which  gave  a  rose-colour  to 
the  painted  canvas  boys  were  writing  letters  home  before 
lying  down  to  sleep.    Some  horsemen  were  moving  down  a 


g4  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

valley  road.  Further  off  a  long  column  of  black  lorries 
passed.    It  was  the  food  of  the  guns  going  forward. 

A  mile  or  two  more,  a  challenge  or  two  more,  and  then  a 
halt  by  the  roadside.  It  was  a  road  which  led  straight  into 
the  central  fires  of  one  great  battlefield  in  a  battle  line  of 
80  miles  or  more.  A  small  corner  of  the  front,  yet  in  itself 
a  broad  and  far-stretching  panorama  of  our  gunfire  on  this 
night  of  bombardment. 

I  stood  with  a  few  officers  in  the  centre  of  a  crescent 
sweeping  round  from  Auchonvillers,  Thiepval,  La  Boisselle, 
and  Fricourt,  to  Bray,  on  the  Somme,  at  the  southern  end 
of  the  curve.  Here  in  this  beetroot  field  on  high  ground, 
we  stood  watching  one  of  the  greatest  artillery  battles  in 
which  British  gunners  have  been  engaged.  Up  to  that  night 
the  greatest. 

The  night  sky,  very  calm  and  moist,  with  low-lying 
clouds  not  stirred  by  wind,  was  rent  with  incessant  flashes 
of  light  as  shells  of  every  calibre  burst  and  scattered.  Out 
of  the  black  ridges  and  woods  in  front  of  us  came  explo- 
sions of  white  fire,  as  though  the  earth  had  opened  and  let 
loose  its  inner  heat.  They  came  up  with  a  burst  of  intense 
brilliance,  which  spread  along  a  hundred  yards  of  ground 
and  then  vanished  abruptly  behind  the  black  curtain  of  the 
night.  It  was  the  work  of  high  explosives  and  heavy  trench 
mortars  falling  in  the  German  lines.  Over  Thiepval  and 
La  Boisselle  there  were  rapid  flashes  of  bursting  shrapnel 
shells,  and  these  points  of  flame  stabbed  the  sky  along  the 
whole  battle  front. 

From  the  German  lines  rockets  were  rising,  continually. 
They  rose  high  and  their  star-shells  remained  suspended  for 
half  a  minute  with  an  intense  brightness.  While  the  light 
lasted  it  cut  out  the  black  outline  of  the  trees  and  broken 
roofs,  and  revealed  heavy  white  smoke-clouds  rolling  over 
the  enemy's  positions. 

They  were  mostly  white  lights,  but  at  one  place  red 
rockets  went  up.  They  were  signals  of  distress,  perhaps, 
from  German  infantry  calling  to  their  guns.    It  was  in  the 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  25 

zone  of  these  red  signals,  over  towards  Ovillers,  that  our 
fire  for  a  time  was  most  fierce,  so  that  sheets  of  flame  waved 
to  and  fro  as  though  fanned  by  a  furious  wind.  All  the 
time  along  the  German  line  red  lights  ran  up  and  down 
like  little  red  dancing  devils. 

I  cannot  tell  what  they  were,  unless  they  were  some  other 
kind  of  signalling,  or  the  bursting  of  rifle-grenades.  Some- 
times for  thirty  seconds  or  so  the  firing  ceased,  and  dark- 
ness, very  black  and  velvety,  blotted  out  everything  and 
restored  the  world  to  peace.  Then  suddenly,  at  one  point 
or  another,  the  earth  seemed  to  open  to  furnace  fires. 
Down  by  Bray,  southwards,  there  was  one  of  these  violent 
shocks  of  light,  and  then  a  moment  later  another,  by 
Auchonvilliers  to  the  north. 

And  once  again  the  infernal  fires  began,  flashing,  flicker- 
ing, running  along  a  ridge  with  a  swift  tongue  of  flame, 
tossing  burning  feathers  above  rosy  smoke-clouds,  concen- 
trating into  one  bonfire  of  bursting  shells  over  Fricourt 
and  Thiepval  upon  which  our  batteries  always  concentrated. 


There  was  one  curious  phenomenon.  It  was  the  silence 
of  all  the  artillery.  By  some  atmospheric  condition  of 
moisture  or  wind  (though  the  night  was  calm),  or  by  the 
configuration  of  the  ground,  which  made  pockets  into  which 
the  sound  fell,  there  was  no  great  uproar,  such  as  I  have 
heard  scores  of  times  in  smaller  bombardments  than  this. 

It  was  all  muflled.  Even  our  own  batteries  did  not  crash 
out  with  any  startling  thunder,  though  I  could  hear  the  rush 
of  big  shells,  like  great  birds  in  flight.  Now  and  then  there 
was  a  series  of  loud  strokes,  an  urgent  knocking  at  the  doors 
of  night.  xA.nd  now  and  again  there  was  a  dull,  heavy  thun- 
der-clap, followed  by  a  long  rumble,  which  made  me  think 
that  mines  were  being  blown  further  up  the  line. 

But  for  the  most  part  it  was  curiously  quiet  and  low- 


26  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

toned,  and  somehow  this  muffled  artillery  gave  one  a  greater 
sense  of  awfulness  and  of  deadly  work. 

Along  all  this  stretch  of  the  battle-front  there  was  no  sign 
of  men.  It  was  all  inhuman,  the  work  of  impersonal  pow- 
ers, and  man  himself  was  in  hiding  from  these  great  forces 
of  destruction.  So  I  thought,  peering  through  the  dark- 
ness, over  the  beetroots  and  the  wheat. 

But  a  little  later  I  heard  the  steady  tramp  of  many  feet 
and  the  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  walking  slowly,  and  the  grind- 
ing of  wheels  in  the  ruts.  Shadow  forms  came  up  out  of 
the  dark  tunnel  below  the  trees,  the  black  figures  of  mounted 
officers,  followed  by  a  battalion  marching  with  their  trans- 
port. I  could  not  see  the  faces  of  the  men,  but  by  the  shape 
of  their  forms  could  see  that  they  wore  their  steel  helmets 
and  their  fighting  kit.  They  were  heavily  laden  with  their 
packs,  but  they  were  marching  at  a  smart,  swinging  pace, 
and  as  they  came  along  were  singing  cheerily. 

They  were  singing  some  music-hall  tune,  with  a  lilt  in  it, 
as  they  marched  towards  the  lights  of  all  the  shells  up  there 
in  the  places  of  death.  Some  of  them  were  blowing  mouth- 
organs  and  others  were  whistling.  I  watched  them  pass — 
all  these  tall  boys  of  a  North  Country  regiment,  and  some- 
thing of  their  spirit  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  dark  mass 
of  their  moving  bodies  and  thrill  the  air.  They  were  going 
up  to  those  places  without  faltering,  without  a  backward 
look  and  singing — dear,  splendid  men. 

I  saw  other  men  on  the  march,  and  some  of  them  were 
whistling  the  "Marseillaise,"  though  they  were  English  sol- 
diers. Others  were  gossiping  quietly  as  they  walked  and 
once  the  light  of  bursting  shells  played  all  down  the  line  of 
their  faces — hard,  clean-shaven,  bronzed  English  faces,  with 
the  eyes  of  youth  there  staring  up  at  the  battle-fires  and 
unafraid. 

A  young  officer  walking  at  the  head  of  his  platoon  called 
out  a  cheery  good-night  to  me.  It  was  a  greeting  in  the 
darkness  from  one  of  those  gallant  boys  who  lead  their 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  27 

men  out  of  the  trenches  without  much  thought  of  self  in  that 
moment  of  sacrifice. 

In  the  camps  the  lights  were  out  and  the  tents  were  dark. 
The  soldiers  who  had  been  writing  letters  home  had  sent 
their  love  and  gone  to  sleep.  But  the  shell  fire  never  ceased 
all  night. 


A  stafif  ofificer  had  whispered  a  secret  to  us  at  midnight  in 
a  little  room,  when  the  door  was  shut  and  the  window 
closed.  Even  then  they  were  words  which  could  be  only 
whispered,  and  to  men  of  trust. 

"The  attack  will  be  made  this  morning  at  7.30." 
So  all  had  gone  well,  and  there  was  to  be  no  hitch.  The 
preliminary  bombardments  had  done  their  work  with  the 
enemy's  wire  and  earthworks.  All  the  organisation  for 
attack  had  been  done,  and  the  men  were  ready  in  their  as- 
sembly trenches  waiting  for  the  words  which  would  hold 
all  their  fate. 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room  where  a  dozen  officers 
heard  the  words — men  who  were  to  be  lookers-on  and  who 
would  not  have  to  leave  a  trench  up  there  on  the  battlefields 
when  the  little  hand  of  a  wrist  watch  said  "It  is  now." 

The  great  and  solemn  meaning  of  next  day's  dawn  made 
the  air  seem  oppressive,  and  our  hearts  beat  jumpily  for 
just  a  moment.  There  would  be  no  sleep  for  all  those  men 
crowded  in  the  narrow  trenches  on  the  north  of  the  Somme. 
God  give  them  courage  in  the  morning.   .  .  . 

The  dawn  came  with  a  great  beauty.  There  was  a  pale 
blue  sky  flecked  with  white  wisps  of  cloud.  But  it  was  cold 
and  over  all  the  fields  there  was  a  floating  mist  which  rose 
up  from  the  moist  earth  and  lay  heavily  upon  the  ridges, 
so  that  the  horizon  was  obscured.  As  soon  as  light  came 
there  was  activity  in  the  place  where  I  was  behind  the  lines. 
A  body  of  French  engineers,  all  blue  from  casque  to  puttee, 
and  laden  with  their  field  packs,  marched  along  with  a  steady 


28  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

tramp,  their  grave,  grim  faces  turned  towards  the  front. 
British  staff  officers  came  motoring  swiftly  by  and  despatch 
riders  mounted  their  motor  cycles  and  scurried  away 
through  the  market  carts  of  French  peasants  to  the  open 
roads.  French  sentries  and  French  soldiers  in  reserve  raised 
their  hands  to  the  salute  as  our  officers  passed. 

Each  man  among  them  guessed  that  it  was  England's  day, 
and  that  the  British  Army  was  out  for  attack.  It  was  the 
spirit  of  France  saluting  their  comrades  in  arms  when  the 
oldest  "poilu"  there  raised  a  wrinkled  hand  to  his  helmet 
and  said  to  an  English  soldier,  "Bonne  chance,  mon 
camarade !" 

Along  the  roads  towards  the  battlefields  there  was  no 
movement  of  troops.  For  a  few  miles  there  were  quiet 
fields,  where  cattle  grazed  and  where  the  wheat  grew  green 
and  tall  in  the  white  mist.  The  larks  were  singing  high  in 
the  first  glinting  sunshine  of  the  day  above  the  haze.  And 
another  kind  of  bird  came  soaring  overhead. 

It  v/as  one  of  our  monoplanes,  which  flew  steadily  towards 
the  lines,  a  herald  of  the  battle.  In  distant  hollows  there 
were  masses  of  limber,  and  artillery  horses  hobbled  in  lines. 

The  battle  line  came  into  view,  the  long  sweep  of  country 
stretching  southwards  to  the  Somme.  Above  the  lines 
beyond  Bray,  looking  towards  the  German  trenches,  was  a 
great  cluster  of  kite  balloons.  They  were  poised  very  high, 
held  steady  by  the  air  pockets  on  their  ropes,  and  their  bas- 
kets, where  the  artillery  observers  sat,  caught  the  rays  of 
the  sun.  I  counted  seventeen  of  them,  the  largest  group 
that  has  ever  been  seen  along  our  front ;  but  I  could  see  no 
enemy  balloons  opposite  them.  It  seemed  that  we  had  more 
eyes  than  they,  but  to-day  theirs  have  been  staring  out  of 
the  veil  of  the  mist. 


We  went  farther  forward  to  the  guns,  and  stood  on  the 
same  high  field  where  we  had  watched  the  night  bombard- 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  29 

ment.  The  panorama  of  battle  was  spread  around  us,  and 
the  noise  of  battle  swept  about  us  in  great  tornadoes.  I 
have  said  that  in  the  night  one  was  startled  by  the  curious 
quietude  of  the  guns,  by  that  queer  muffled  effect  of  so  great 
an  artillery.  But  now  on  the  morning  battle  this  phenom- 
enon, which  I  do  not  understand,  no  longer  existed.  There 
was  one  continual  roar  of  guns  which  beat  the  air  with 
great  waves  and  shocks  of  sound,  prodigious  and  over- 
whelming. 

The  full  power  of  our  artillery  was  let  loose  at  about  6 
o'clock  this  morning.  Nothing  like  it  has  ever  been  seen  or 
heard  upon  our  front  before,  and  all  the  preliminary  bom- 
bardment, great  as  it  was,  seemed  insignificant  to  this.  I  do 
not  know  how  many  batteries  we  have  along  this  battle  line 
or  upon  the  section  of  the  line  which  I  could  see,  but  the 
guns  seemed  crowded  in  vast  numbers  of  every  calibre,  and 
the  concentration  of  their  fire  was  terrific  in  its  intensity. 

For  a  time  I  could  see  nothing  through  the  low-lying  mist 
and  heavy  smoke-clouds  which  mingled  with  the  mist,  and 
stood  like  a  blind  man,  only  listening.  It  was  a  wonderful 
thing  which  came  to  my  ears.  Shells  were  rushing  through 
the  air  as  though  all  the  trains  in  the  world  had  leapt  their 
rails  and  were  driving  at  express  speed  through  endless 
tunnels  in  which  they  met  each  other  with  frightful  col- 
lisions. 

Some  of  these  shells  firing  from  batteries  not  far  from 
where  I  stood  ripped  the  sky  with  a  high,  tearing  note. 
Other  shells  whistled  with  that  strange,  gobbling,  sibilant 
cry  which  makes  one's  bowels  turn  cold.  Through  the  mist 
and  the  smoke  there  came  sharp,  loud,  insistent  knocks,  as 
separate  batteries  fired  salvoes,  and  great  clangorous  strokes, 
as  of  iron  doors  banged  suddenly,  and  the  tattoo  of  the 
light  field  guns  playing  the  drums  of  death. 

The  mist  was  shifting  and  dissolving.  The  tall  tower  of 
Albert  Cathedral  appeared  suddenly  through  the  veil,  and 
the  sun  shone  full  for  a  few  seconds  on  the  golden  Virgin 
and  the  Babe,  which  she  held  head-downwards  above  all  this 


so  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

tumult  as  a  peace-offering  to  men.  The  broken  roofs  of 
the  town  gleamed  white,  and  the  two  tall  chimneys  to  the 
left  stood  black  and  sharp  against  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky, 
into  which  dirty  smoke  drifted  above  the  whiter  clouds. 

I  could  see  now  as  well  as  hear.  I  could  see  our  shells 
falling  upon  the  German  lines  by  Thiepval  and  La  Boiselle 
and  further  by  Mametz,  and  southwards  over  Fricourt. 
High  explosives  were  tossing  up  great  vomits  of  black 
smoke  and  earth  all  along  the  ridges.  Shrapnel  was  pour- 
ing upon  these  places,  and  leaving  curly  white  clouds,  which 
clung  to  the  ground. 

Below  there  was  the  flash  of  many  batteries  like  Morse 
code  signals  by  stabs  of  flame.  The  enemy  was  being 
blasted  by  a  hurricane  of  fire.  I  found  it  in  my  heart  to 
pity  the  poor  devils  who  were  there,  and  yet  was  filled  by  a 
strange  and  awful  exultation  because  this  was  the  work  of 
our  guns,  and  because  it  was  England's  day. 

Over  my  head  came  a  flight  of  six  aeroplanes,  led  by  a 
single  monoplane,  which  steered  steadily  towards  the  enemy. 
The  sky  was  deeply  blue  above  them,  and  when  the  sun 
caught  their  wings  they  were  as  beautiful  and  delicate  as 
butterflies.  But  they  were  carrying  death  with  them,  and 
were  out  to  bomb  the  enemy's  batteries  and  to  drop  their 
explosives  into  masses  of  men  behind  the  German  lines. 

Farther  away  a  German  plane  was  up.  Our  anti-aircraft 
guns  were  searching  for  him  with  their  shells  which  dotted 
the  sky  with  snowballs. 

Every  five  minutes  or  so  a  single  gun  fired  a  round.  It 
spoke  with  a  voice  I  knew,  the  deep,  gruff  voice  of  old 
"Grandmother,"  one  of  our  15-inch  guns,  which  Carries  a 
shell  large  enough  to  smash  a  cathedral  with  one  enormous 
burst.  I  could  follow  the  journey  of  the  shell  by  listening 
to  its  rush  through  space.  Seconds  later  there  was  the 
distant  thud  of  its  explosion. 

Troops  were  moving  forward  to  the  attack  from  behind 
the  lines.  It  was  nearly  7.30.  All  the  officers  about  me 
kept  glancing  at  their  wrist-watches.     We  did  not  speak 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  31 

much  then,  but  stared  silently  at  the  smoke  and  mist  which 
floated  and  banked  along  our  lines.  There,  hidden,  were 
our  men.  They,  too,  would  be  looking  at  their  wrist- 
watches. 

The  minutes  were  passing  very  quickly — as  quickly  as 
men's  lives  pass  when  they  look  back  upon  the  years.  An 
officer  near  me  turned  away,  and  there  was  a  look  of  sharp 
pain  in  his  eyes.  We  were  only  lookers-on.  The  other  men, 
our  friends,  the  splendid  Youth  that  we  have  passed  on  the 
roads  of  France,  were  about  to  do  this  job.  Good  luck  go 
with  them!  Men  were  muttering  such  wishes  in  their 
hearts. 


It  was  7.30.  Our  watches  told  us  that,  but  nothing  else. 
The  guns  had  lifted  and  were  firing  behind  the  enemy's  first 
lines,  but  there  was  no  sudden  hush  for  the  moment  of 
attack.  The  barrage  by  our  guns  seemed  as  great  as  the  first 
bombardment.  For  ten  minutes  or  so  before  this  time  a 
new  sound  had  come  into  the  general  thunder  of  artillery. 
It  was  like  the  "rafale"  of  the  French  soixante-quinze,  very 
rapid,  with  distant  and  separate  strokes,  but  louder  than 
the  noise  of  field-guns.  They  were  our  trench-mortars  at 
work,  along  the  whole  length  of  the  line  before  me. 

It  was  7.30.  The  moment  for  the  attack  had  come. 
Clouds  of  smoke  had  been  liberated  to  form  a  screen  for  the 
infantry,  and  hid  the  whole  line.  The  only  men  I  could 
see  were  those  in  reserve,  winding  along  a  road  by  some 
trees  which  led  up  to  the  attacking  points.  They  had  their 
backs  turned,  as  they  marched  very  slowly  and  steadily 
forward.  I  could  not  tell  who  they  were,  though  I  had 
passed  some  of  them  on  the  road  a  day  or  two  before.  But, 
whoever  they  were,  English,  Irish  or  Welsh,  I  watched  them 
until  most  had  disappeared  from  sight  behind  a  clump  of 
trees.  In  a  little  while  they  would  be  fighting,  and  would 
need  all  their  courage. 


38  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

At  a  minute  after  7.30  there  came  through  the  rolling 
smoke-clouds  a  rushing  sound.  It  was  the  noise  of  rifle 
fire  and  machine-guns.  The  men  were  out  of  their  trenches, 
and  the  attack  had  begun.  The  enemy  was  barraging  our 
lines. 


The  country  chosen  for  our  main  attack  to-day  stretches 
from  the  Somme  for  some  20  miles  northwards.  The 
French  were  to  operate  on  our  immediate  right.  It  is  very 
different  country  from  Flanders,  with  its  swamps  and  flats, 
and  from  the  Loos  battlefields,  with  their  dreary  plain 
pimpled  by  slack  heaps. 

It  is  a  sweet  and  pleasant  country,  with  wooded  hills  and 
httle  valleys  along  the  river  beds  of  the  Ancre  and  the 
Somme,  and  fertile  meadow-lands  and  stretches  of  wood- 
land, where  soldiers  and  guns  may  get  good  cover.  "A 
clean  country,"  said  one  of  our  Generals,  when  he  first  went 
to  it  from  the  northern  war  zone. 

It  seemed  very  queer  to  go  there  first,  after  a  knowledge 
of  war  in  the  Ypres  salient,  where  there  is  seldom  view  of 
the  enemy's  lines  from  any  rising  ground — except  Kemmel 
Hill  and  Observatory  Ridge — and  where  certainly  one  can- 
not walk  on  the  skyline  in  full  view  of  German  earthworks 
2,000  yards  away. 

But  at  Hebuterne,  which  the  French  captured  after  des- 
perate fighting,  and  at  Auchonvilliers  (opposite  Beaumont), 
and  on  the  high  ground  by  the  ruined  city  of  Albert,  look- 
ing over  to  Fricourt  and  Mametz,  and  further  south  on  the 
Somme,  looking  towards  the  little  German  stronghold  at 
Curlu,  beyond  the  marshes,  one  could  see  very  clearly  and 
with  a  strange,  unreal  sense  of  safety. 

I  saw  a  German  sentry  pacing  the  village  street  of  Curlu, 
and  went  within  20  paces  of  his  outposts.  Occasionally  one 
could  stare  through  one's  glasses  at  German  working  parties 
just  beyond  sniping  range  round  Beaumont  and  Fricourt, 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  83 

and  to  the  left  of  Fricourt  the  Crucifix  between  its  seven 
trees  seemed  very  near  as  one  looked  at  it  in  the  German 
lines. 

Below  this  CI  vary  was  the  Tambour  and  the  Bois  Fran- 
gais,  where  not  a  week  passed  without  a  mine  being  blown 
on  one  side  or  ;!ie  other,  so  that  the  ground  was  a  great 
upheaval  of  mingling  mine-craters  and  tumbled  earth,  which 
but  hal'f -covered  the  dead  bodies  of  men. 

It  was  difficult  ground  in  front  of  us.  The  enemy  was 
strong  in  his  defences.  In  the  clumps  of  woodland  beside 
the  ruined  villages  he  hid  many  machine-guns  and  trench 
mortars,  and  each  ruined  house  in  each  village  was  part  of  a 
fortified  stronghold  difficult  to  capture  by  direct  assault.  It 
was  here,  however,  and  with  good  hopes  of  success  that  our 
men  attacked  to-day,  working  eastwards  across  the  Ancre 
and  northwards  up  from  the  Somme. 


8 

At  the  end  of  this  day's  fighting  it  is  still  too  soon  to 
give  a  clear  narrative  of  the  battle.  Behind  the  veil  of 
smoke  which  hides  our  men  there  were  many  different  ac- 
tions taking  place,  and  the  messages  that  come  back  at  the 
peril  of  men's  lives  and  by  the  great  gallantry  of  our  sig- 
nallers and  runners  give  but  glimpses  of  the  progress  of 
our  men  and  of  their  hard  fighting. 

I  have  seen  the  wounded  who  have  come  out  of  the  battle, 
and  the  prisoners  brought  down  in  batches,  but  even  they 
can  give  only  confused  accounts  of  fighting  in  some  single 
sector  of  the  line  which  comes  within  their  own  experience. 

At  first,  it  is  certain,  there  was  not  much  difficulty  in  tak- 
ing the  enemy's  first  line  trenches  along  the  greater  part  of 
the  country  attacked.  Our  bombardment  had  done  great 
damage,  and  had  smashed  down  the  enemy's  wire  and  flat- 
tened his  parapets.  When  our  men  left  their  assembly 
trenches  and  swept  forward,  cheering,  they  encountered  no 


34  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

great  resistance  from  German  soldiers,  who  had  been  hid- 
ing in  their  dug-outs  under  our  storm  of  shells. 

Many  of  these  dug-outs  were  blown  in  and  filled  with 
dead,  but  out  of  others  which  had  not  been  flung  to  pieces 
by  high  explosives  crept  dazed  and  deafened  men  who  held 
their  hands  up  and  bowed  their  heads.  Some  of  them  in 
one  part  of  the  line  came  out  of  their  shelters  as  soon  as  our 
guns  lifted,  and  met  our  soldiers  half-way,  with  signs  of 
surrender. 

They  were  collected  and  sent  back  under  guard,  while 
the  attacking  columns  passed  on  to  the  second  and  third 
lines  in  the  network  of  trenches,  and  then  if  they  could  get 
through  them  to  the  fortified  ruins  behind. 

But  the  fortunes  of  war  vary  in  different  places,  as  I 
know  from  the  advance  of  troops,  including  the  South 
Staffords,  the  Manchesters,  and  the  Gordons.  In  crossing 
the  first  line  of  trench  the  South  Staffordshire  men  had  a 
comparatively  easy  time,  with  hardly  any  casualties,  gath- 
ering up  Germans  who  surrendered  easily.  The  enemy's 
artillery  fire  did  not  touch  them  seriously,  and  both  they  and 
the  Manchesters  had  very  great  luck. 

But  the  Gordons  fared  differently.  These  keen  fighting 
men  rushed  forward  with  great  enthusiasm  until  they 
reached  one  end  of  the  village  of  Mametz,  and  then  quite 
suddenly  they  were  faced  by  rapid  machine-gun  fire  and  a 
storm  of  bombs.  The  Germans  held  a  trench  called  Danzig- 
avenue  on  the  ridge  where  Mametz  stands,  and  defended  it 
with  desperate  courage.  The  Gordons  flung  themselves 
upon  this  position,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  clearing  it  of 
the  enemy.  At  the  end  of  the  day  Mametz  remained  in 
our  hands. 

It  was  these  fortified  villages  which  gave  our  men  greatest 
trouble,  for  the  German  troops  defended  them  with  real 
courage,  and  worked  their  machine-guns  from  hidden  em- 
placements with  skill  and  determination. 

Fricourt  is,  I  believe,  still  holding  out  (its  capture  has 
since  been  officially  reported ) ,  though  our  men  have  forced 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  35 

their  way  on  both  sides  of  it,  so  that  it  is  partly  surrounded. 
Montauban,  to  the  north-east  of  Mametz,  was  captured 
early  in  the  day,  and  we  also  gained  the  strong  point  at 
Serre,  until  the  Germans  made  a  somewhat  heavy  counter- 
attack, and  succeeded  in  driving  out  our  troops. 

Beaumont-Hamel  was  not  in  our  hands  at  the  end  of  the 
day,  but  here  again  our  men  are  fighting  on  both  sides  of 
it.  The  woods  and  village  of  Thiepval,  which  I  had  watched 
under  terrific  shell-fire  in  our  preliminary  bombardments, 
was  one  point  of  our  first  attack,  and  our  troops  swept  from 
one  end  of  the  village  to  the  other,  and  out  beyond  to  a 
new  objective. 

They  were  too  quick  to  get  on,  it  seems,  for  a  considerable 
number  of  Germans  remained  in  the  dug-outs,  and  when  the 
British  soldiers  went  past  them  they  came  out  of  their  hid- 
ing-places and  became  a  fighting  force  again.  Farther  north 
our  infantr}^  attacked  both  sides  of  the  Gommecourt  salient 
with  the  greatest  possible  valour. 

That  is  my  latest  knowledge,  writing  at  midnight  on  the 
first  day  of  July,  which  leaves  our  men  beyond  the  German 
front  lines  in  many  places,  and  penetrating  to  the  country 
behind  like  arrow-heads  between  the  enemy's  strongholds. 


In  the  afternoon  I  saw  the  first  batches  of  prisoners 
brought  in.  In  parties  of  50  to  100  they  came  down, 
guarded  by  men  of  the  Border  Regiment,  through  the  little 
French  hamlets  close  behind  the  fighting-lines,  where  peas- 
ants stood  in  their  doorways  watching  these  first-fruits  of 
victory. 

They  were  damaged  fruit,  some  of  these  poor  wretches, 
wounded  and  nerve-shaken  in  the  great  bombardment.  Most 
of  them  belonged  to  the  logth  and  iioth  Regiments  of  the 
14th  Reserve  Corps,  and  they  seemed  to  be  a  mixed  lot  of 
Prussians  and  Bavarians,     On  the  whole,  they  were  tall, 


36  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

strong  fellows,  and  there  were  striking  faces  among  them, 
of  men  higher  than  the  peasant  type,  and  thoughtful.  But 
they  were  very  haggard  and  worn  and  dirty. 

Over  the  barbed  wire  which  had  been  stretched  across  a 
farmyard,  in  the  shadow  of  an  old  French  church,  I  spoke 
to  some  of  them.  To  one  man  especially,  who  answered  all 
my  questions  with  a  kind  of  patient  sadness.  He  told  me 
that  most  of  his  comrades  and  himself  had  been  without 
food  and  water  for  several  days,  as  our  intense  fire  made  it 
impossible  to  get  supplies  up  the  communication-trenches. 

About  the  bombardment  he  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  a 
moment — eyes  full  of  a  remembered  horror — and  said,  "Es 
war  schrecklich"  (It  was  horrible).  Most  of  the  officers  had 
remained  in  the  second  line,  but  the  others  had  been  killed, 
he  thought.  His  own  brother  had  been  killed,  and  in  Baden 
his  mother  and  sisters  would  weep  when  they  heard.  But 
he  was  glad  to  be  a  prisoner,  out  of  the  war  at  last,  which 
would  last  much  longer. 

A  new  column  of  prisoners  was  being  brought  down,  and 
suddenly  the  man  turned  and  uttered  an  exclamation  with 
a  look  of  surprise  and  awe. 

"Ach,  da  ist  ein  Hauptmann!"  He  recognised  an  officer 
among  these  new  prisoners,  and  it  seemed  clearly  a  surpris- 
ing thing  to  him  that  one  of  the  great  caste  should  be  in  this 
plight,  should  suffer  as  he  had  suffered. 

Some  of  his  fellow-prisoners  lay  on  the  ground  all  bloody 
and  bandaged.  One  of  them  seemed  about  to  die.  But  the 
English  soldiers  gave  them  water,  and  one  of  our  officers 
emptied  his  cigarette-case  and  gave  them  all  he  had  to 
smoke. 

Other  men  were  coming  back  from  the  fields  of  fire,  glad 
also  to  be  back  behind  the  line.  They  were  our  wounded, 
who  came  in  very  quickly  after  the  first  attack  to  the  cas- 
ualty clearing  stations  close  to  the  lines,  but  beyond  the 
reach  of  shell-fire.  Many  of  them  were  lightly  wounded  in 
the  hands  and  feet,  and  sometimes  50  or  more  were  on  one 


THE  HISTORIC  FIRST  OF  JULY  37 

lorry,  which  had  taken  up  ammunition  and  was  now  bring- 
ing back  the  casualties. 

They  were  wonderful  men.  So  wonderful  in  their  gaiety 
and  courage  that  one's  heart  melted  at  the  sight  of  them. 
They  were  all  grinning  as  though  they  had  come  from  a 
"jolly"  in  which  they  had  been  bumped  a  little.  There  was 
a  look  of  pride  in  their  eyes  as  they  came  driving  down  like 
wounded  knights  from  a  tourney. 

They  had  gone  through  the  job  with  honour,  and  have 
come  out  with  their  lives,  and  the  world  was  good  and  beau- 
tiful again,  in  this  warm  sun,  in  these  snug  French  villages, 
where  peasant  men  and  women  waved  hands  to  them,  and  in 
these  fields  of  scarlet  and  gold  and  green. 

The  men  who  were  going  up  to  the  battle  grinned  back 
at  those  who  were  coming  out.  One  could  not  see  the  faces 
of  the  lying-down  cases,  only  the  soles  of  their  boots  as 
they  passed ;  but  the  laughing  men  on  the  lorries — some  of 
them  stripped  to  the  waist  and  bandaged  roughly — seemed 
to  rob  war  of  some  of  its  horror,  and  the  spirit  of  our 
British  soldiers  shows  bright  along  the  roads  of  France,  so 
that  the  very  sun  seems  to  get  some  of  its  gold  from  these 
men's  hearts. 

To-night  the  guns  are  at  work  again,  and  the  sky  flushes 
as  the  shells  burst  over  there  where  our  men  are  fighting. 


345S75 


II 

THE  FIRST  CHARGE 


I 

July  2 
It  is  possible  now  to  get  something  like  a  clear  idea  of  the 
fighting  which  began  yesterday  morning  at  7.30,  when  the 
furious  tempest  of  our  guns  passed  farther  over  the  German 
lines  and  our  infantry  left  their  trenches  for  the  great 
adventure. 

The  battle  goes  on,  with  success  to  our  arms.  Fricourt, 
partly  surrounded  yesterday  (by  the  21st  Division),  was 
taken  by  assault  to-day,  and  a  German  counter-attack  upon 
Montauban  was  repulsed  with  losses  that  tore  gaps  into  the 
enemy's  ranks.  Prisoners  come  tramping  down  in  batches, 
weary,  worn  men,  who  have  the  gallantry  to  praise  our  own 
infantry  and  remember  with  a  shudder  the  violence  of  our 
gunfire. 

Wounded  men  who  are  coming  out  of  the  fighting-lines 
ask  one  question,  "How  are  we  doing?"  Men  suffering 
great  pain  have  a  smile  in  their  eyes  when  the  answer  comes, 
"We  are  doing  well."  The  spirit  of  our  men  is  so  high 
that  it  is  certain  we  shall  gain  further  ground,  however 
great  the  cost. 

The  ground  we  have  already  gained  was  won  by  men  who 
fought  to  win,  and  who  went  "all  out,"  as  they  say,  with  a 
fierce  enthusiasm  to  carry  their  objective,  quickly  and  ut- 
terly and  cleanly.  This  wonderful  spirit  of  the  men  is 
praised  by  all  their  officers  as  a  kind  of  new  revelation, 
though  they  saw  them  in  trench  life  and  in  hard  times. 

"They  went  across  toppingly,"  said  a  wounded  boy  of  the 

38 


THE  FIRST  CHARGE  39 

West  Yorkshires,  who  was  in  the  first  attack  on  Fricourt. 
"The  fellows  w^re  glorious,"  said  another  young  officer  who 
could  hardly  speak  for  the  pain  in  his  left  shoulder,  where 
a  piece  of  shell  struck  him  down  in  Mametz  Wood.  "Won- 
derful chaps !"  said  a  lieutenant  of  the  Manchesters.  "They 
went  cheering  through  machine-gun  fire  as  though  it  were 
just  the  splashing  of  rain.  .  .  .  They  beat  everything  for 
real  pluck." 

They  beat  everything  for  pluck  except  their  own  officers, 
who,  as  usual,  led  their  men  forward  without  a  thought  of 
their  own  risks. 


The  attack  on  Montauban  was  one  ot  our  best  successes 
yesterday.  The  men  were  mainly  Lancashire  troops  (of  the 
Manchester  Regiment)  supported  by  men  of  the  Home 
Counties,  including  those  of  Surrey.  Kent,  Essex,  Bedford, 
and  Norfolk.  They  advanced  in  splendid  order  straight  for 
their  objective,  swept  over  the  German  trenches,  and  cap- 
tured large  numbers  of  prisoners,  without  great  loss  to 
themselves. 

Their  commanding  officers  were  anxious  about  a  German 
strong  point  called  the  Briqueterie,  or  brickfield,  which  had 
been  full  of  machine-guns  and  minenwerfers,  and  the  orig- 
inal intention  was  to  pass  this  without  a  direct  attempt  to 
take  it. 

But  the  fHDsition  was  found  to  be  utterly  destroyed  by  our 
bombardment,  and  a  party  of  men  (the  Liverpools)  were 
detached  to  seize  it,  which  they  did  with  comparative  ease. 
The  remainder  of  the  men  in  those  battalions  went  on  to  the 
ruined  village  of  Montauban  and,  in  spite  of  spasmodic 
machine-gun  fire  from  some  of  the  broken  houses,  carried  it 
in  one  great  flood  of  invasion. 

Large  numbers  of  Germans  were  taking  cover  in  dug- 
outs and  cellars,  but  as  soon  as  our  men  entered  they  came 
up  into  the  open  and  surrendered.     Many  of  them  were  so 


40  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

cowed  by  the  great  bombardment  they  had  suffered  and  by 
the  waves  of  men  that  swept  into  their  stronghold  that  they 
fell  upon  their  knees  and  begged  most  piteously  for  mercy, 
which  was  granted  to  them. 

The  loss  of  Montauban  was  serious  to  the  enemy,  and 
they  prepared  a  counter-attack,  which  was  launched  this 
morning,  at  3  o'clock,  at  a  strength  of  two  regiments.  Our 
men  were  expecting  this  and  had  organised  their  defence. 
The  Germans  came  on  in  close  order,  very  bravely,  rank 
after  rank  advancing  over  the  dead  and  wounded  bodies 
of  their  comrades,  who  were  caught  by  our  machine-gun 
fire  and  rifle-fire  and  mown  down.  Only  a  few  men  were 
able  to  enter  our  trenches,  and  these  died.  Montauban  re- 
mains in  our  hands,  and  so  far  the  enemy  has  not  attempted 
another  attack. 


Our  line  winds  round  the  village  in  a  sharp  salient  which 
drops  south-eastwards  to  J\Iametz,  which  is  full  of  German 
dead  and  wounded,  who  are  being  found  in  the  cellars  and 
taken  back  to  our  hospitals.  It  was  in  the  taking  of  Mametz 
that  some  of  the  Gordons  suffered  heavily.  With  English 
troops  they  advanced  across  the  open  with  sloped  arms. 
There  was  very  little  shell-fire  and  not  a  rifle-shot  came 
from  the  enemy's  broken  trenches. 

"Suddenly,"  says  one  of  their  officers,  "a  machine-gun 
opened  fire  upon  us  point-blank,  and  caught  us  in  the  face. 
I  shouted  to  my  men  to  advance  at  the  double,  and  we  ran 
forward  through  a  perfect  stream  of  shattering  bullets. 
Many  of  my  poor  boys  dropped,  and  then  I  fell  and  knew 
nothing  more  for  a  while.  But  afterwards  I  heard  that  we 
had  taken  Mametz,  and  hold  it  still.  .  ,  .  My  Gordons  were 
fine,  but  we  had  bad  luck." 

It  was  the  fire  of  German  machine-guns  which  was  most 
trying  to  our  men.  Again  and  again  soldiers  have  told  me 
to-day  that  the  hard  time  came  when  these  bullets  began  to 


THE  FIRST  CHARGE  41 

play  upon  them.  In  spite  of  our  enormous  bombardment 
there  remained  here  and  there,  even  in  a  front-Hne  trench,  a 
machine-gun  emplacement  so  strongly  built  with  steel  gird- 
ers and  concrete  cover  that  it  had  defied  our  high  explosives. 
And  inside  were  men  who  were  defiant  also. 

A  young  officer  of  the  Northumberland  Fusiliers  paid  a 
high  tribute  to  them.  "They  are  wonderful  men,"  he  said, 
"and  work  their  machines  until  they  are  bombed  to  death. 
In  the  trenches  by  Fricourt  they  stayed  on  when  all  the 
other  men  had  either  been  killed  or  wounded,  and  would 
neither  surrender  nor  escape.  It  was  the  same  at  Loos,  and 
it  would  not  be  sporting  of  us  if  we  did  not  say  so,  though 
they  have  knocked  out  so  many  of  our  best." 

The  same  opinion  in  almost  the  same  words  was  given 
to  me  to-day  by  many  men  whose  bodies  bore  witness  to 
these  German  Maxims,  and  though  their  words  were  a 
tribute  to  the  enemy,  they  also  proved  the  fine  generosity  in 
the  heart  of  our  own  men. 

While  the  attacks  were  being  made  on  Montauban  and 
Mametz  very  hard  fighting  was  in  progress  on  the  left,  or 
western,  side  of  our  line  from  Gommecourt  downwards.  So 
far  I  have  heard  very  little  of  the  action  at  Gommecourt, 
where  the  German  salient  was  most  difficult  to  assault  owing 
to  formidable  defences.  In  that  direction  our  progress  has 
not  been  great. 

Farther  south  at  Ovillers  and  La  Boisselle  our  attacks 
were  rather  more  fortunate,  and  some  ground  was  gained 
with  great  loss  in  life  to  the  enemy,  though  not  without 
many  casualties  to  ourselves.  Fortunately,  as  in  all  this 
fighting,  the  proportion  of  lightly  wounded  men  is  wonder- 
fully high. 

The  advance  upon  the  ridge  of  La  Boisselle  was  a  splendid 
and  memorable  thing.  The  men  who  took  part  in  it  were 
hard,  tough  fellows  who  fear  neither  man  nor  devil,  nor 
engines  of  war.  They  went  forward  cheering,  and  the 
Tyneside  pipers  played  on  their  men.     The  German  guns 


42  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

were  flinging  Jack  Johnsons  over,  but  they  did  not  inflict 
much  damage,  and  the  men  jeered  at  them. 

"Silly  old  five-point-nine  crumps!"  said  a  young  officer 
to-day  who  had  been  among  them.  "They  only  made  a 
beastly  stink  and  the  devil  of  a  noise.  It  was  the  machine- 
guns  which  did  all  the  work." 

The  machine-guns  were  enfilading  our  men  from  La  Bois- 
selle,  and  from  the  high  ground  above  their  bullets  came 
pattering  down  in  showers,  so  that  when  they  hit  men  in  the 
shoulder  they  came  out  at  the  wrist.  They  swept  No  Man's 
Land  like  a  scythe. 

But  our  troops  passed  on  steadily  with  fixed  bayonets  at 
parade  step,  not  turning  their  heads  when  comrades  dropped 
to  right  and  left  of  them.  They  took  the  first  line  of  Ger- 
man trenches,  which  were  blown  to  dust-heaps  with  the 
bodies  of  the  men  who  had  held  them.  In  the  second  line 
there  were  men  still  living,  and  still  resolute  enough  to 
defend  themselves.  They  Vv^ere  bombed  out  of  this  position, 
and  our  men  went  on  to  the  third  line  still  under  machine- 
gun  fire. 

"It  seemed  to  me,"  said  a  Lincolnshire  lad,  "as  if  there 
was  a  machine-gun  to  every  five  men."  Without  exaggera- 
tion there  were  many  of  these  machines  and  they  were 
served  skilfuly  and  terribly  by  their  gunners.  Beyond  La 
Boisselle,  which  was  pressed  on  one  side,  the  fire  became 
very  intense.  High  explosives,  shrapnel,  and  trench-mortars 
ploughed  up  the  ground. 

"They  threw  everything  at  us  except  half -croons,"  said  a 
man  of  the  Royal  Scots. 

It  was  the  Royal  Scots  who  charged  with  the  bayonet 
into  a  body  of  German  troops,  and  the  other  battalions  ad- 
vanced at  the  double  and  captured  batches  of  men  who  had 
no  more  stomach  for  the  fight. 

Some  of  the  hardest  fighting  at  La  Boisselle  was  done  by 
men  of  Dorset  and  Manchester  with  Highland  Light  Infan- 
try and  Borderers.  They  had  an  easy  time  over  the  front 
line,  but  when  the  second  was  reached  had  to  engage  in  a 


THE  FIRST  CHARGE  43 

battle  of  bombs  with  a  large  body  of  Germans.  This  re- 
sistance was  broken  down  and  when  there  was  a  show  of 
bayonets  the  enemy  surrendered.  They  were  haggard  men, 
who  had  suffered,  like  most  of  our  prisoners,  from  long 
hunger  and  thirst  as  our  bombardment  had  cut  ofif  their 
supplies  and  broken  the  water-pipes. 

Farther  north  there  was  a  severe  struggle  for  the  posses- 
sion of  Thiepval,  which  was  once  in  our  hands  but  is  now 
again  in  the  enemy's  grip.  It  is  clear  from  all  the  evidence 
I  can  get  that  our  men  passed  beyond  to  a  further  objective 
without  staying  to  clear  out  the  dug-outs  where  Germans 
were  in  hiding  or  to  search  for  all  the  machine-gun  emplace- 
ments. The  enemy  came  out  of  their  hiding-places  and 
served  their  machine-guns  upon  the  British  troops  who  had 
gone  forward. 

A  sergeant-major  of  the  Manchesters,  who  took  part  in 
one  of  the  attacks  which  followed  each  other  in  waves  upon 
the  Thiepval  positions,  says  that  he  and  his  comrades  forced 
their  way  across  the  front  trenches  and  had  to  walk  over 
the  bodies  of  large  numbers  of  German  dead,  who  had  fallen 
in  the  bombardment.  With  his  regiment  he  went  forward 
into  a  wood  known  to  the  men  as  "Blighty,"  and  then  fell 
wounded. 

Machine-gun  bullets  and  shrapnel  were  slashing  through 
it  with  a  storm  of  lead,  lopping  off  branches  and  ricochetting 
from  the  tree-trunks.  The  men  stood  this  ordeal  superbly, 
and  those  who  were  not  wounded  fought  their  way  through 
towards  the  village.  Some  battalions  working  on  the  left 
of  Thiepval  had  a  very  severe  ordeal.  One  of  them, 
wounded,  told  me  that  they  seized  the  first  system  of 
trenches  in  the  face  of  machine-gun  fire  and  captured  the 
men  who  remained  alive  in  the  dug-outs. 

They  were  deep  dug-outs,  going  30  feet  below  ground, 
and  in  some  cases,  even  at  that  depth,  had  trap-doors  lead- 
ing to  still  lower  chambers,  so  that  our  bombardment  had 
not  touched  them.  Many  of  them  were  elaborately  fitted 
and  furnished,  and  were  well  stocked  v^-ith  wine  and  Ijeer. 


44  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

A  great  deal  of  correspondence  was  found  and  sent  back  to 
our  lines  in  sandbags. 


It  was  when  our  men  advanced  upon  the  Thiepval  woods 
that  they  had  their  hardest  hours,  for  the  enemy's  fire  was 
heavy,  and  they  had  to  pass  through  an  intense  barrage. 
Meanwhile  big  fighting  was  in  progress  at  Fricourt,  and 
some  of  the  North-countrymen  had  a  great  ordeal  of  fire. 
They  have  done  magnificently,  and  Fricourt  is  ours. 

Other  troops  were  engaged,  for  masses  of  men  of  many 
British  regiments  advanced  on  both  sides  of  the  village 
endeavouring  to  get  possession  of  Shelter  Wood,  Lozenge 
Wood,  and  the  high  ground  to  the  north  of  the  village  from 
the  position  known  as  the  Crucifix.  Large  numbers  of  Ger- 
mans were  killed  and  wounded,  but  the  garrison  of  Fricourt 
maintained  a  very  stout  resistance,  and  until  this  morning 
our  attacks  did  not  succeed  in  taking  this  stronghold,  al- 
though it  was  nearly  surrounded. 

Heroic  acts  were  done  by  our  men,  as  I  know  from  the 
comrades  who  were  with  them.  One  boy  of  eighteen,  to 
give  only  one  instance,  was  so  good  a  captain,  although  a 
private  soldier,  that  when  the  officers  of  his  platoon  had 
fallen  he  rallied  the  men  and  led  them  forward.  "Come  on, 
my  lads,"  he  cried.  "We'll  get  them  out!"  A  pipe-major 
of  the  Royal  Scots  led  this  battalion  forward  to  an  old 
Scottish  tune,  and  during  the  attack  stood  out  alone  in  No 
Man's  Land  playing  still  until  he  fell  wounded. 

Early  this  morning  a  very  fine  flanking  attack  was  made 
on  Fricourt  by  the  men  who  had  held  on  to  the  ground 
during  the  night,  and  Crucifix  Trench  was  taken  after  the 
explosion  of  two  big  mines.  The  attack  then  closed  in,  one 
body  of  troops  working  round  to  the  north  and  another 
fighting  their  way  round  the  south  side  in  order  to  get  the 
village  within  a  pair  of  tongs. 

The  operation  succeeded  and  the  village  waS  taken,  but 


THE  FIRST  CHARGE  45 

fighting  still  went  on  to  gain  possession  of  the  high  ridge 
above.  A  whole  company  of  German  soldiers  were  seen  to 
come  suddenly  across  the  open  with  their  hands  up.  Other 
men  straggled  singly  over  the  shell-beaten  ground  to  sur- 
render to  our  men. 

But  the  enemy's  guns  put  up  a  heavy  barrage  of  shrapnel 
and  high  explosives  when  our  men  tried  to  advance  along 
the  ridge,  and  from  the  upper  end  of  the  Fricourt  Wood 
there  came  the  incessant  clatter  of  machine-gun  fire.  Our 
attack  did  not  falter,  and  as  far  as  I  can  learn  the  position 
to-night  is  good. 

Here,  then,  are  some  scraps  of  fact  about  a  great  battle 
still  in  progress  and  covering  a  wide  stretch  of  ground,  in 
which  many  separate  actions  are  taking  place.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  an  eye-witness  to  see  more  than  a  corner  of  these 
battlefields,  and  at  this  hour  for  one  man  to  write  a  clear, 
straight  chronicle  of  so  great  an  adventure.  I  have  been 
travelling  to-day  about  the  lines,  trying  to  gather  the  threads 
together,  talking  to  many  of  our  fighting  men,  going  among 
the  wounded  and  the  prisoners,  and  in  the  intense  and 
immediate  interest  of  this  great  drama  of  war  which  is  all 
about  me,  trying  to  get  at  the  latest  facts  of  our  progress 
from  hour  to  hour. 

But  what  I  have  written  is  only  the  odds  and  ends  of  a 
long  heroic  story  which  must  be  written  later  with  fuller 
knowledge  of  men  and  deeds.  Only  one  thing  is  really  very 
clear  and  shining  in  all  this  turmoil  of  two  days  of  battle — 
it  is  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  our  men. 


Ill 

THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR 


I 

Julys 
As  the  hours  pass  we  are  gaining  new  ground  and  extending 
our  line  slowly  but  steadily  to  straighten  it  out  between  the 
German  strongholds  which  have  been  captured  by  the  great 
gallantry  of  our  men  after  heavy  fighting. 

To-day  when  I  went  into  the  heart  of  these  battlefields  in 
and  around  Fricourt,  where  we  have  made  our  most  success- 
ful advance.  I  could  see  the  progress  we  have  made  since 
the  first  day's  attacks  by  the  elevation  of  the  shell-fire,  which 
traced  out  the  German  and  British  lines.  To  the  right  of 
me  was  Mametz,  held  by  our  troops,  and  our  encircling  loop 
no  longer  dipped  so  steeply  southwards  as  before,  but  curved 
gradually  westwards  below  the  Bois  de  Mametz  until  it 
reached  Fricourt  itself. 

Here  we  are  not  only  in  possession  of  the  village  but  have 
the  wood  on  the  high  ground  beyond,  the  Crucifix  Trench 
on  the  edge  to  the  left,  and  Lozenge  Wood  still  farther  to 
the  left.  Our  line  then  runs  to  La  Boisselle,  most  of  which 
v/as  in  our  hands  early  this  morning  after  a  fierce  bombard- 
ment by  our  guns,  followed  by  the  infantry  advance.  It 
seemed  to  me,  from  my  own  observation  to-day,  that  the 
German  guns  are  retiring  farther  back  to  escape  capture 
or  direct  hits,  for  many  of  their  shrapnel  shells  appeared 
to  come  from  an  extreme  range  by  high  angle  fire.  All 
this  shows  that  we  are  pressing  the  enemy  hard,  and  that 
so  far  he  is  unable  to  bring  up  supports  to  secure  his  defence. 

The  scene  here  was  wonderful,  and  though  I  have  been 

46 


THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR  47 

in  many  battlefields  since  this  war  began  I  have  never 
watched  before  such  a  complete  and  close  picture  of  war  in 
its  infernal  grandeur.  The  wood  of  La  Boisselle  was  to 
my  left  on  the  rising  slopes,  up  which  there  wound  a  white 
road  to  that  ragged  fringe  of  broken  tree-trunks,  standing 
like  gallows-trees  against  the  sky-line. 

Immediately  facing  me  was  Lozenge  Wood  and  the  Cruci- 
fix, with  two  separate  trees  known  as  the  Poodles,  and  just 
across  the  way  to  my  right  in  the  hollow  that  dips  below 
the  wood  was  Fricourt.  Montauban,  which  our  troops  took 
by  assault  in  the  first  day's  fighting,  was  marked  only  by 
one  tall  chimney,  the  rest  of  its  ruins  being  hidden  behind  a 
crest  of  ground,  but  to  the  right,  near  enough  for  me  to  see 
and  count  its  ruined  houses,  was  Mametz  lying  in  a  cup 
below  the  ridge. 

A  great  bombardment  was  raging  from  both  sides,  the 
enemy  shelling  the  places  we  had  taken  from  him,  and  our 
guns  putting  a  heavy  barrage  on  to  his  positions.  La  Bois- 
selle was  being  shelled  by  shrapnel  with  great  severity,  and 
there  was  one  spot  at  the  northern  end  of  the  tree  stumps 
where  British  and  German  shells  seemed  to  meet  and  mingle 
their  explosions. 

In  what  was  once  a  village  there  were  dense  clouds  of 
smoke  which  rose  up  in  columns  and  then  spread  out  into 
a  thick  pall.  In  the  very  centre  of  this  place,  which  looked 
like  one  of  Dante's  visions  of  hell-fire,  one  of  our  soldiers 
was  signalling  with  a  flaming  torch. 

The  red  flame  moved  backwards  and  forwards  through 
the  wrack  of  smoke,  and  was  then  tossed  high,  as  a  new 
burst  of  shrapnel  broke  over  the  place  where  the  signaller 
stood. 

Our  batteries  were  firing  single  rounds  and  salvos  in  the 
direction  of  Contalmaison  from  many  places  behind  our 
lines,  so  that  I  was  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  guns  all  con- 
centrating upon  the  enemy's  lines  behind  Fricourt  and 
Mametz  Wood  and  La  Boisselle.  Shells  from  our  heavies 
came  screaming  overhead  with  a  high  rising  note  which 


48  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

ends  with  a  sudden  roar  as  the  shell  bursts,  and  our  field- 
batteries  were  firing  rapidly  and  continuously  so  that  the 
sharp  crack  of  each  shot  seemed  to  rip  the  air  as  though 
it  were  made  of  calico. 

It  was  a  tornado  of  shell-fire,  and  though  one's  head 
ached  at  it  and  each  big  shell  as  it  travelled  over  seemed  in 
a  queer  way  to  take  something  from  one's  vitality  by  its 
rush  of  air,  there  was  a  strange  exultation  in  one's  senses 
at  the  consciousness  of  this  mass  of  artillery  supporting  our 
men.    Those  were  our  guns.    Ours ! 

They  had  the  mastery.  They  were  all  registered  on  the 
enemy.  Our  guns  at  last  had  given  us  a  great  chance.  The 
infantry  had  something  behind  them,  and  it  was  not  all  flesh 
and  blood  against  great  engines,  as  in  the  early  days  it  used 
to  be. 


The  enemy  was  replying  chiefly  on  the  ground  about  La 
Boisselle,  so  that  T  hated  to  think  of  our  men  up  there,  for 
though  it  was  nothing  like  our  bombardment  it  was  heavy 
enough  to  increase  the  cost  we  have  had  to  pay  for  progress. 
I  could  see  nothing  of  the  men  in  that  smoke  and  flame,  but 
I  could  see  men  going  up  towards  it,  in  a  quiet,  leisurely 
way  as  though  strolling  on  a  summer  morning  in  peaceful 
fields. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  our  soldiers  walking  about  this 
battlefield.  They  seemed  very  aimless,  in  little  groups,  wan- 
dering about  as  though  picking  wild  flowers — some  of  those 
poppies  which  made  great  splashes  of  scarlet  up  to  the 
trenches,  or  some  of  the  blue  cornflowers  and  purple  scabi- 
ous and  white  stitch  wort  which  weaved  the  colours  of 
France  over  these  poor  stricken  fields  of  hers,  now  hers 
again,  and  the  charlock  which  ran  with  a  riot  of  gold  in  all 
this  great  luxuriance  between  the  tumbled  earthworks  where 
dead  bodies  lay. 

The  shells  were  whining  and  rending  the  air  above  their 


THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR  49 

heads,  but  they  did  not  glance  upwards  or  forwards  to 
where  the  shells  burst  and  vomited  black  smoke.  They 
seemed  as  careless  of  war  as  holiday-makers  on  Hampstead 
Heath.  Yet  when  I  went  among  them  I  found  that  each 
man  had  his  special  mission,  and  was  part  of  a  general  pur- 
pose guided  by  higher  powers.  Some  of  them,  were  laying 
new  wires  for  new  telephones  over  ground  just  captured 
from  the  enemy. 

Others  were  runners  coming  down  with  messages  through 
the  barrage  higher  up  the  roads.  Artillerymen  and  engi- 
neers were  getting  on  with  their  job,  quietly,  without  fuss. 

From  over  the  ridge  where  Crucifix  Trench  runs  from  the 
Poodles  into  Fricourt  Wood  came  a  body  of  men.  I  could 
see  their  heads  above  the  trench.  Then  they  seemed  to 
rest  a  while.  After  that  they  came  into  full  view  below  the 
ridge. 

Had  they  been  seen  by  the  German  gunners  ?  Why  were 
they  running  like  that  down  the  slope?  Some  shrapnel- 
clouds  came  white  and  curly  above  the  sky-line;  others 
fluffed  lower,  nearer  to  the  men.  They  were  in  such  a 
bunch  that  one  shell  would  do  great  damage  there.  .  .  . 

They  scattered  a  little  and  I  saw  their  figures  taking  cover 
in  the  hummocky  ridges.  It  was  only  later  that  I  heard  that 
these  men  had  been  fighting  heavily  down  near  the  two 
trees  known  as  the  Poodles,  and  that  they  had  captured  a 
number  of  German  prisoners,  who  came  towards  them  with 
uplifted  hands.  The  prisoners  were  being  brought  down  in 
small  batches,  whom  I  met  on  the  road. 


Up  at  La  Boisselle  the  shelling  was  still  intense,  but  our 
troops  had  already  surrounded  part  of  the  position,  and 
after  a  concentration  by  our  guns  advanced  and  captured  it. 
A  number  of  Germans  were  there  in  their  dug-outs,  the 
remnant  of  a  battalion  which  had  suffered  frightful  things 


50  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

under  our  gun-fire.  Some  of  the  officers,  it  seems,  from 
what  the  prisoners  told  me,  went  away  to  Bush  Tree  Copse, 
Contalmaison,  saying  that  they  were  going  to  bring  up  re- 
serves.   But  they  did  not  come  back. 

The  other  men — about  250  of  them — stayed  in  the  dug- 
outs, without  food  and  water,  while  our  shells  made  a  fury 
above  them  and  smashed  up  the  ground.  They  had  a  Ger- 
man doctor  there,  a  giant  of  a  man  with  a  great  heart,  who 
had  put  his  first-aid  dressing-station  in  the  second-line  trench 
and  attended  to  the  wounds  of  the  men  until  our  bombard- 
ment intensified  so  that  no  man  could  live  there. 

He  took  the  wounded  down  to  a  dug-out — those  who  had 
not  been  carried  back — and  stayed  there  expecting  death. 
But  then,  as  he  told  me,  to-day  at  about  eleven  o'clock  this 
morning  the  shells  ceased  to  scream  and  roar  above-ground, 
and  after  a  sudden  silence  he  heard  the  noise  of  British 
troops.  He  went  up  to  the  entrance  of  his  dug-out  and  said 
to  some  English  soldiers  who  came  up  with  fixed  bayonets, 
"My  friends,  I  surrender."  Afterwards  he  helped  to 
tend  our  own  wounded,  and  did  very  good  work  for  us 
under  the  fire  of  his  own  guns,  which  had  now  turned  upon 
this  position. 

There  was  another  German  to-day  at  La  Boisselle,  but  his 
work  was  not  that  of  helping  wounded  men.  It  was  one 
of  those  machine-gunners  who  kept  up  a  fire  of  dropping 
bullets  upon  our  troops  when  we  first  made  an  assault  upon 
this  position.  And  to-day  he  was  there  still  in  his  emplace- 
ment doing  very  deadly  work,  and  though  he  was  wounded 
in  nine  places  when  we  found  him  he  was  still  working  his 
terrible  little  gun. 

Our  men  took  him  prisoner,  and,  in  the  English  way,  bore 
no  grudge  against  him,  but  sang  his  praises.  Many  other 
machine-guns  were  captured,  and  round  one  of  them  all  the 
team  was  laid  out  dead  by  one  of  our  shells. 


THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR  51 


4 

At  about  11.30  in  the  morning  I  walked  down  into  Fri- 
court,  which  was  captured  yesterday  afternoon.  It  was  a* 
strange  walk,  not  pleasant,  but  full  of  a  terrible  interest. 
Fighting  was  still  going  on  on  the  high  ground  above,  a 
few  hundred  yards  away,  and  while  I  had  been  watching 
the  scene  of  war  from  a  field  near  by  I  had  seen  heavy 
shells,  certainly  five-point-nines,  falling  near  the  village  and 
raising  clouds  of  black  and  greenish  smoke,  and  they  were 
falling  into  Mametz  some  distance  to  the  right. 

Fricourt  was  not  an  inviting  place,  but  other  men  had 
been  there  at  a  worse  time.  And  the  interest  of  it  called 
to  one  to  get  into  this  bit  of  ruined  ground  with  its  broken 
brickwork  which  for  more  than  a  year  we  have  stared  at 
across  barbed  wire  and  through  holes  in  the  ground  as  an 
evil  place  beyond  our  knowledge,  as  a  place  from  which 
death  came  to  our  men  from  trench-mortars  and  machine- 
guns,  separated  from  us  by  lines  of  trenches  full  of  snipers 
who  waited  and  watched  for  any  of  our  heads  to  appear, 
even  for  a  second,  above  the  parapet,  and  by  No  Man's 
Land  into  which  some  of  our  brave  boys  went  out  at  night 
at  great  peril,  hiding  in  shell-holes,  and  avoiding  the  mine- 
fields of  the  Bois  Francais  and  other  ground  honeycombed 
below  by  German  galleries  which,  night  after  night — do 
you  remember  the  line  in  the  official  communique? — flung 
up  the  soil  and  formed  another  crater  and  buried  some  more 
of  our  men.  "There  was  mining  activity  near  Fricourt." 
Well,  there  will  be  no  more  of  it  there. 

I  went  across  the  fields — Lord  God!  that  would  have 
meant  death  a  week  or  two  ago,  before  the  enemy  was  busy 
with  other  things  close  by — and  came  down  to  our  old  sys- 
tem of  trenches.  Here  were  the  little  wooden  bridges  across 
which  our  men  made  their  advance,  and  litters  of  sandbags 
no  more  to  be  used  for  the  parapets  here,  and  the  abandoned 
properties  of  men  who  had  left  these  old  familiar  places — 


52  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  old  rat-holes,  the  bays  in  the  trenches  where  they  stood 
on  guard  at  night,  the  dug-outs  where  they  had  pinned  up 
photographs — upon  the  morning  of  the  great  adventure, 
which  was  yesterday. 

Here  was  a  redoubt  from  which  I  had  first  looked  across 
to  the  Crucifix  and  the  communication-trench  up  which  the 
men  used  to  come  at  night.  Now  all  abandoned,  for  the 
men  had  gone  forward. 

The  flowers  were  growing  richly  in  No  Man's  Land,  red 
and  yellow  and  blue,  except  where  the  earth  was  white  and 
barren  above  the  mine-fields  of  the  famous  Tambour,  and 
brown  and  barren  in  the  Bois  Franqais,  where  never  a  tree 
now  grows. 

We  walked  across  No  Man's  Land  in  the  full  sunlight  of 
this  July  day,  and  though  shells  were  rushing  overhead, 
those  from  our  batteries  seemed  low  enough  to  cut  off  the 
heads  of  the  flowers,  and  mine.  They  were  mostly  our 
shells. 

Lightly  wounded  men,  just  hit  up  there  beyond  the  wood, 
walked  along  unaided,  or  helped  by  a  comrade.  One  of 
them,  a  boy  of  i8  or  so,  with  blue  eyes  under  his  steel 
helmet,  stopped  me  and  showed  me  a  bloody  bandage  round 
his  hand,  and  said  with  an  excited  laugh : 

"They  got  me  all  right.  I  was  serving  my  Lewis  when 
a  bullet  caught  me  smack.  Now  Fm  off.  And  Fve  had  i8 
months  of  it." 

He  went  away  grinning  at  his  luck,  because  the  bullet 
might  have  chosen  another  place. 

Some  German  prisoners  followed  him.  Two  of  them 
were  carrying  a  stretcher  on  which  an  English  soldier  lay 
with  his  eyes  shut.  A  wounded  German  behind  turned  and 
smiled  at  me — a  strong,  meaningful  smile.  He  was  glad  to 
be  wounded  and  out  of  it. 

Other  Germans  came  down  under  guard,  and  little  groups 
of  English  soldiers  and  Red  Cross  men.  I  struck  across  the 
field  again  to  the  old  German  lines  of  trenches,  and  saw  the 
full  and  frightful  horror  of  war.     The  German  trenches-. 


THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR  68 

were  smashed  at  some  places,  by  our  artillery  fire,  into 
shapelessness.  Green  sandbags  were  flung  about,  timbers 
from  the  trench  sides  had  been  broken  and  tossed  about  like 
match-sticks. 

I  stumbled  from  one  shell-crater  to  another,  over  bits  of 
indescribable  things,  and  the  litter  of  men's  tunics  and 
pouches  and  haversacks,  and  dug-outs.  Rifles  lay  about, 
and  the  ground  was  strewn  with  hand-grenades,  and  here 
and  there  was  a  great  unexploded  shell  which  had  nosed 
into  the  soil.  There  were  many  German  dead  lying  there 
in  Fricourt,  and  some  of  our  own  poor  men.  The  Germans 
were  lying  thick  in  one  part  of  the  trenches. 

They  had  been  tall,  fine  men  in  their  life.  One  of  them 
lying  with  many  wounds  upon  him  was  quite  a  giant.  An- 
other poor  man  lay  on  his  back  with  his  face  turned  up  to 
the  blue  sky  and  his  hands  raised  up  above  his  body  as 
though  in  prayer.  .  .  . 

But  I  turned  my  head  away  from  these  sights,  as  most 
people  hide  these  things  from  their  imagination,  too  cow- 
ardly to  face  the  reality  of  war, 

I  followed  an  officer  down  into  a  German  dug-out  until 
he  halted  half-way  down  its  steps  and  spoke  a  word  of 
surprise. 

"There's  a  candle  still  burning!" 

It  gave  one  an  uncanny  feeling  to  see  that  lighted  candle 
in  the  deep  subterranean  room,  where  yesterday  German 
officers  were  living,  unless  dead  before  yesterday. 

It  could  not  have  been  burning  all  that  time.  For  a  mo- 
ment we  thought  an  enemy  might  still  be  hiding  there,  and 
it  was  not  improbable,  as  two  of  them  had  been  found  in 
Fricourt,  only  a  few  hours  before.  But  in  all  likelihood  it 
had  been  lit  by  an  English  soldier  after  the  capture  of  the 
place. 

The  dug-out  was  littered  with  German  books  and  papers. 
I  picked  up  one  of  them,  and  saw  that  it  was  "Advice  on 
Sport."  Here  was  sad  sport  for  Germans.  There  was  a 
tragic  spirit  in  that  little  room,  and  we  went  out  quickly,    I 


64  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

peered  into  other  German  dug-outs,  and  saw  how  splendidly 
built  they  were,  so  deep  and  so  strongly  timbered  that  not 
even  our  bombardment  had  utterly  destroyed  them.  They 
are  great  workers,  these  Germans,  and  wonderful  soldiers. 

Everywhere  there  lay  about  great  numbers  of  steel  hel- 
mets, some  of  them  with  vizors,  and  well  designed,  so  that 
they  come  down  to  the  nape  of  the  neck  and  protect  all  the 
head.  Some  of  our  soldiers  were  bringing  them  back  as 
souvenirs.  One  man  had  ten  dangling  about  him,  like  the 
tin  pots  on  a  travelling  tinker. 

In  the  wood  beyond  the  Crucifix  our  machine-guns  were 
firing  fiercely,  and  the  noise  was  like  that  of  a  great  flame, 
beyond  the  village.  Fricourt  itself  is  just  a  heap  of  fright- 
ful ruin,  with  the  remains  of  houses  which  the  enemy  had 
used  as  machine-gun  emplacements.  Every  yard  of  it  was 
littered  with  the  debris  of  war's  aftermath.  Before  our 
final  attack  yesterday  many  of  the  German  troops  filtered 
out  in  retreat,  leaving  some  of  their  wounded  behind,  and 
one  poor  puppy — a  fox  terrier — which  is  now  the  trophy 
of  one  of  our  battalions. 

But  a  number  of  men — about  150,  I  should  say — could 
not  get  away  owing  to  the  intensity  of  our  first  bombard- 
ment, and  when  our  men  stormed  the  place  yesterday  after- 
noon they  came  up  out  of  their  dug-outs  with  their  hands 
up  for  mercy.  I  saw  them  all  to-day,  and  spoke  with  some 
of  them. 

They  belonged  to  the  109th,  iioth  and  iiith  regiments 
of  the  14th  Reserve  Corps,  and  were  mostly  from  Baden. 
It  would  be  absurd  to  talk  of  these  fellows  as  being  under- 
sized or  underfed  men.  They  were  tall,  strong,  stout  men, 
in  the  prime  of  life.  Only  a  few  were  wounded,  and  lay 
about  in  a  dazed  way.  The  others  answered  me  cheerfully, 
and  expressed  their  joy  at  having  escaped  from  our  gun- 
fire, which  they  described  as  "schrecklich" — terrible.  They 
had  had  no  food  or  drink  since  yesterday  morning  until 
their  English  guards  gave  it  to  them. 

I  spoke  s^'io  with  a  little  group  of  officers.     They  were 


THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR  55 

young  men  of  an  aristocratic  type,  and  spoke  very  frankly 
and  politely.  They,  too,  acknowledged  the  new  power  of 
our  artillery  and  the  courage  of  our  men,  which  was  not 
new  to  them.  It  was  here  that  I  had  a  talk  with  the  German 
medical  officer  whom  I  had  seen  walking  down  between 
two  guards  close  to  Fricourt.  After  describing  his  own 
experiences  during  the  bombardment  this  morning  he 
laughed  in  a  sad  way. 

"This  war !"  he  said.  "We  go  on  killing  each  other  to  no 
purpose.  Europe  is  being  bled  to  death,  and  will  be  im- 
poverished for  long  years.  It  is  a  war  against  religion,  and 
against  civilisation,  and  I  see  no  end  to  it.  Germany  is 
strong  and  England  is  strong  and  France  is  strong.  It  is 
impossible  for  one  side  to  crush  the  other,  so  when  is  the 
end  to  come?"  Because  of  his  services  to  our  own  men  he 
was  given  special  privileges  and  an  English  soldier  had 
brought  down  all  his  personal  belongings.  A  little  apart 
from  all  his  fellow  officers  stood  a  German  lieutenant- 
colonel  who  was  charged  with  having  killed  two  of  our 
officers  by  bombing  them  after  his  surrender.  A  tall, 
gloomy,  truculent  man  of  the  worst  Prussian  type,  he  stood 
awaiting  an  inquiry,  and  I  could  only  hope  that  he  was  not 
guilty  of  such  a  crime. 

From  personal  observation  I  know  nothing  of  what  has 
happened  elsewhere  in  the  line  to-day,  but  I  have  heard  a 
story  of  an  attack  on  the  Gommecourt  salient  which  shows 
that  this  action  was  one  of  the  most  tragic  and  heroic 
things  in  British  history.  The  enemy  had  concentrated  a 
great  mass  of  guns  here  in  the  belief  that  our  main  attack 
was  to  be  directed  against  this  part  of  the  front.  The 
existence  of  this  belief  has  been  proved  by  German  orders 
which  have  come  into  our  hands. 

As  soon  as  our  men  left  their  trenches  after  the  bombard- 
ment yesterday  the  enemy  barraged  our  front  and  support 
trenches  with  a  most  infernal  fire.  Our  men  advanced 
through  this  barrage  absolutely  as  though  on  parade,  and 


56  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

in  spite  of  heavy  losses  made  their  way  over  500  yards  of 
No  Man's  Land  to  the  enemy's  front  line. 

The  German  soldiers  also  behaved  with  great  courage,  and 
carried  their  machine-guns  right  through  our  barrage  until 
they  faced  our  men  in  the  open  and  swept  them  with  fire  so 
that  large  numbers  fell. 

The  attack  did  not  succeed  in  this  part  of  the  line.  But 
it  drew  on  the  enemy's  reserves,  and  great  honour  is  due  to 
the  valour  of  those  men  of  ours,  who  fought  as  heroes  in 
one  of  the  most  glorious  acts  of  self-sacrifice  ever  made  by 
British  troops. 


IV 

THE  DEATH-SONG  OF  THE  GERMANS 

Morning  bright;  morning  bright — 
Light  that  leads  me  to  the  grave — 

Soon  shall  dawn  with  summons  brazen 

Call  me  to  my  death  to  hasten — 
I  and  many  a  comrade  brave. 

"Morgenroth"  (Dr.  Blackie's  translation). 

"Morgenroth !"  the  haunting  death-song  of  the  forlorn  hopes  of 
the  German  armies,  is  the  song  which  was  sung  so  often  in  the 
Franco-Prussian  War  of   1870,  and  is  being  sung  again  to-day. 

The  words  were  written  by  Wilhelm  Hauff,  a  patriotic  German 
writer  of  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century. 


I 

July  4 
No  sensational  progress  has  been  made  by  us  since  I  wrote 
my  last  despatch,  yesterday,  but  our  guns  are  in  a  good 
pMDsition  to  follow  up  our  advance,  and  the  battle  is  develop- 
ing, I  believe,  according  to  the  original  plan  which  antici- 
pated slow  and  steady  fighting  from  one  German  position 
to  another.  That  is  being  done,  and  another  point  was 
gained  to-day  by  the  capture  of  Bernafay  Wood  to  the 
north-east  of  Montauban,  from  which  I  have  just  come 
back  after  seeing  the  shelling  of  this  wood,  from  close  range. 
It  is  behind  the  lines  on  the  outskirts  of  the  battlefields 
that  one  sees  most  of  the  activity  of  war,  as  I  saw  it  to-day 
again  when  I  went  up  to  this  captured  ground  of  Montau- 
ban. Up  there  where  fighting  was  in  progress  not  many 
men  were  visible.  Until  the  advance,  after  the  work  of 
our  guns,  and  the  short,  sharp  rush  from  open  ground  under 

57 


58  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  enemy's  shrapnel,  our  men  are  hidden  and  the  only 
movement  to  be  seen  is  that  of  the  shells  bursting  and  toss- 
ing up  the  earth. 

But  on  the  way  up,  now  that  the  war  is  no  longer  station- 
ary, there  is  a  great  turmoil  of  men  and  mules  and  guns 
and  wagons  and  again  and  again  to-day  I  wished  that  I 
could  put  on  to  paper  sketches  rather  than  words  to  describe 
these  scenes.  For  here  all  along  the  way  were  historic 
pictures  of  the  campaign  full  of  life  and  colour. 

Great  camps  had  been  assembled  in  the  dips  and  hollows 
of  the  hills  with  painted  tents  between  the  lines  and  great 
masses  of  horses  and  wagons  and  gun-limbers  crowded  to- 
gether, with  thousands  of  men  busy  as  ants.  Transport 
columns  came  down  or  went  up  the  hilly  roads  driven  by 
tired  men  who  drooped  in  their  seats  or  saddles  after  three 
days  of  battle,  in  which  they  have  had  but  little  sleep.  One 
of  them  was  asleep  to-day.  He  had  fallen  backwards  in  his 
wagon  still  holding  the  reins,  and  while  he  slept  his  horses 
jogged  on  steadily  following  the  leaders  of  the  column. 
On  the  roadside  and  among  the  wild  flowers  of  uncultivated 
fields  batches  of  infantry,  who  had  been  marching  all  night, 
had  flung  themselves  down  and  slept  also  while  they  had  a 
half-hour's  chance,  with  their  arms  outstretched,  with  their 
rifles  and  packs  for  their  pillows. 

Other  men  were  moving  up  towards  the  fighting  lines, 
marching  with  a  steady  tramp  along  the  chalky  roads,  which 
plastered  them  with  white  dust  from  steel  helmet  down- 
wards, and  put  a  white  mask  upon  their  faces,  except  where 
the  sweat  came  down  in  gullies.  Artillerymen  were  leading 
up  reserve  horses,  who  put  their  ears  back  for  a  moment, 
as  though  to  switch  off  flies  when  heavy  guns  blared  forth 
close  to  them  and  shells  of  at  least  Sin.  calibre  went  howling 
overhead  to  the  enemy's  lines. 

At  wayside  corners  were  field  dressing  stations  flying  the 
Red  Cross  flag,  and  surrounded  by  little  parks  of  ambu- 
lances, where  stretcher  men  were  busy.  And  every  now 
and  then,  at  a  cross-road  or  a  by-path,  a  wooden  notice- 


THE  DEATH-SONG  OF  THE  GERMANS   59 

board  directed  the  way  in  red  letters  and  the  words  "Walk- 
ing wounded.'' 

This  was  the  Via  Dolorosa  of  men  who  could  hobble 
away  from  the  battlefield  up  there  and  get  back  on  their  legs 
to  save  transport  more  badly  needed  by  stricken  comrades. 

Closer  to  the  lines  there  was  a  scene  which  would  make 
one  weep  if  one  had  the  weakness  of  tears  after  two  years 
.of  war.  Our  dead  were  being  buried  in  a  newly-made  ceme- 
tery, and  some  of  their  comrades  were  standing  by  the  open 
graves  and  sorting  out  the  crosses — ^the  little  wooden  crosses 
which  grow  in  such  a  harvest  across  these  fields  of  France. 

They  were  white  above  the  brown  earth,  and  put  into 
neat  rows,  and  labelled  with  strips  of  tin  bearing  the  names 
of  those  who  now  have  peace. 

French  troops  were  mingled  among  our  own  men.  A 
working  party  of  them  came  along  shouldering  picks  and 
shovels.  They  were  Territorials,  past  the  fighting  age,  but 
tall,  sturdy,  hardened  men,  with  a  likeness  to  their  young 
sons  who,  with  less  weight,  but  with  the  same  hard  bronzed 
look,  are  fighting  the  new  battles  of  the  war. 

It  was  the  sound  of  French  guns  away  to  the  south  which 
was  making  most  commotion  in  the  air  to-day.  Big  fighting 
was  going  on  there,  as  though  the  French  were  making  a 
further  advance,  and  the  rafale  of  their  field  guns  was 
incessant,  and  like  the  roll  of  many  drums. 


As  I  went  over  the  battlefield  of  Montauban  the  enemy's 
shells  and  our  own  were  falling  over  Bernafay  Wood,  where 
each  side  held  part  of  the  ground.  A  little  to  my  left 
Mametz  was  being  pounded  heavily  by  the  German  gun- 
ners, and  they  were  flinging  shrapnel  and  "crumps"  into  the 
ragged  fringe  of  trees,  just  in  front  of  me,  which  marks  the 
place  where  the  village  of  Montauban  once  stood.  They 
were  also  barraging  a  line  of  trench  just  below  the  trees. 


60  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

and  keeping  a  steady  flow  of  five-point-nines  into  one  end 
of  the  wood  to  the  right  of  Montauban,  for  which  our  men 
are  now  fighting. 

Other  shells  came  with  an  irregular  choice  of  place  over 
the  battlefield,  and  there  were  moments  when  those  clouds 
of  black  shrapnel  overhead  suggested  an  immediate  dive 
into  the  nearest  dug-out. 

I  passed  across  our  old  line  of  trenches  from  which  on 
Saturday  morning  our  men  went  out  cheering  to  that  great 
attack  which  carried  them  to  the  furthest  point  gained  that 
day,  in  spite  of  heavy  losses.  The  trenches  now  were  filled 
with  litter  collected  from  the  battlefield — stacks  of  rifles  and 
kit,  piles  of  hand-grenades,  no  longer  needed  by  those  who 
owned  them. 

This  old  system  of  trenches,  in  which  French  troops  lived 
for  many  months  of  war  before  they  handed  them  over  to 
our  men,  was  like  a  ruined  and  deserted  town  left  hurriedly 
because  of  plague,  and  in  great  disorder.  Letters  were 
lying  about,  and  bully  beef  tins,  and  cartridge  clips.  Our 
men  had  gone  forward  and  these  old  trenches  are  aban- 
doned. 

It  is  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  give  a  picture  of  the 
German  trenches  over  this  battlefield  of  Montauban,  where 
we  now  hold  the  line  through  the  wood  beyond.  Before 
Saturday  last  it  was  a  wide  and  far-reaching  network  of 
trenches,  with  many  communication  ways  and  strong 
traverses,  and  redoubts — so  that  one  would  shiver  at  their 
strength  to  see  them  marked  on  a  map.  No  mass  of  in- 
fantry, however  great,  would  have  dared  to  assault  such  a 
position  with  bombs  and  rifles. 

It  was  a  great  underground  fortress,  which  any  body  of 
men  could  have  held  against  any  others  for  all  time  apart 
from  the  destructive  power  of  heavy  artillery.  But  now! 
.  .  .  Why  now  it  was  the  most  frightful  convulsion  of  earth 
that  the  eyes  of  man  could  see. 

The  bombardment  by  our  guns  had  tossed  all  these  earth- 
works into  vast  rubbish-heaps.    We  had  made  this  ground 


THE  DEATH-SONG  OF  THE  GERMANS       61 

one  vast  series  of  shell  craters,  so  deep  and  so  broad  that  it 
was  like  a  field  of  extinct  volcanoes. 

The  ground  rose  and  fell  in  enormous  waves  of  brown 
earth,  so  that  standing  above  one  crater  I  saw  before  me 
these  solid  billows  with  30  feet  slopes  stretching  away  like  a 
sea  frozen  after  a  great  storm.  We  had  hurled  thousands 
of  shells  from  our  heaviest  howitzers  and  long-range  guns 
into  this  stretch  of  field. 


I  saw  here  and  touched  here  the  awful  result  of  that 
great  gunfire  which  I  had  watched  from  the  centre  of  our 
batteries  on  the  morning  of  July  i.  That  bombardment  had 
annihilated  the  German  position.  Even  many  of  the  dug- 
outs, going  30  feet  deep  below  the  earth  and  strongly  tim- 
bered and  cemented,  had  been  choked  with  masses  of  earth 
so  that  many  dead  bodies  lay  buried  there.  But  some  had 
been  left  in  spite  of  the  upheaval  of  earth  around  them,  and 
into  some  of  these  I  crept  down,  impelled  by  the  strong 
grim  spell  of  those  little  dark  rooms  below  where  German 
soldiers  lived  only  a  few  days  ago. 

They  seemed  haunted  by  the  spirits  of  the  men  who  had 
made  their  homes  here  and  had  carried  into  these  holes  the 
pride  of  their  souls,  and  any  poetry  they  had  in  their  hearts, 
and  their  hopes  and  terrors,  and  memories  of  love  and  life 
in  the  good  world  of  peace.  I  could  not  resist  going  down 
to  such  places,  though  to  do  so  gave  me  gooseflesh. 

I  had  to  go  warily,  for  on  the  stairways  were  unexploded 
bombs  of  the  "hair-brush"  style.  A  stumble  or  a  kick  might 
send  one  to  eternity  by  high  explosive  force,  and  it  was  dif- 
ficult not  to  stumble,  for  the  steps  were  broken  or  falling 
into  a  landslide. 

Down  inside  the  little  square  rooms  were  filled  with  the 
relics  of  German  officers  and  men.  The  deal  tables  were 
strewn  with  papers,  on  the  wooden  bedsteads  lay  blue-grey 
overcoats.    Wine  bottles,  photograph  albums,  furry  haver- 


62  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

sacks,  boots,  belts,  kit  of  every  kind  had  all  been  tumbled 
together  by  British  soldiers  who  had  come  here  after  the 
first  rush  to  the  enemy's  trenches  and  searched  for  men  in 
hiding. 

There  were  men  in  hiding  now,  though  harmless.  In  one 
of  the  dug-outs  where  I  groped  my  way  down  it  was  pitch 
dark.  I  stumbled  against  something,  and  fumbled  for  my 
matches.  When  I  struck  a  light  I  saw  in  a  corner  of  the 
room  a  German. 

He  lay  curled  up,  with  his  head  on  his  arm,  as  though 
asleep.  I  did  not  stay  to  look  at  his  face,  but  went  up 
quickly.  And  yet  I  went  down  others  and  lingered  in  one 
where  no  corpse  lay  because  of  the  tragic  spirit  that  dwelt 
there  and  put  its  spell  on  me.     I  picked  up  some  letters. 

They  were  all  written  to  "dear  brother  Wilhelm,"  from 
sisters  and  brothers,  sending  him  their  loving  greetings, 
praying  that  his  health  was  good,  promising  to  send  him 
gifts  of  food,  and  yearning  for  his  homecoming.  "Since 
your  last  letter  and  card,"  said  one  of  them,  "we  have  heard 
nothing  more  from  you. 

"Every  time  the  postman  comes  we  hope  for  a  little  note 
from  you.  .  .  .  Dear  Wilhelm,  in  order  to  be  patient  with 
your  fate  you  must  thank  God  because  you  have  found 
fortune  in  misfortune." 

Poor,  pitiful  letters!  I  was  ashamed  to  read  them  be- 
cause it  seemed  like  prying  into  another  man's  secrets, 
though  he  was  dead. 

There  was  a  little  book  I  picked  up.  It  is  a  book  of  sol- 
diers' songs,  full  of  old  German  sentiment,  about  "the  little 
mother"  and  the  old  house  at  home  and  the  pretty  girl  who 
kissed  her  soldier  boy  before  he  went  off  to  the  war.  And 
here  is  the  sad  old  "Morgenlied,"  which  has  been  sung  along 
many  roads  of  France. 

"Red  morning  sun !  Red  morning  sun !  Do  you  light 
me  to  an  early  death?  Soon  will  the  trumpets  sound,  and 
I  must  leave  this  life,  and  many  a  comrade  with  me. 

"I  scarcely  thought  my  joy  would  end  like  this.    Yestef- 


THE  DEATH-SONG  OF  THE  GERMANS   63 

day  I  rode  a  proud  steed;  to-day  I  am  shot  through  the 
chest ;  to-morrow  I  shall  be  in  the  cold  grave,  O  red  morning 


sun 


On  the  front  page  of  this  book,  which  I  found  to-day  at 
Montauban,  there  is  an  Army  Order  from  Prince  von  Rup- 
precht  of  Bavaria  to  the  soldiers  of  the  Sixth  Army. 

"We  have  the  fortune,"  it  says,  "to  have  the  English  on 
our  front,  the  troops  of  those  people  whose  envy  for  years 
has  made  them  work  to  surround  us  with  a  ring  of  enemies 
in  order  to  crush  us.  It  is  to  them  that  we  owe  this  bloody 
and  most  horrible  war.  .  .  .  Here  is  the  antagonist  who 
stands  most  in  the  way  of  the  restoration  of  peace.  For- 
wards !" 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  preface  by  Prince  Rupprecht  of 
Bavaria  spoilt  the  sentiment  in  the  German  folksongs,  which 
were  full  of  love  rather  than  of  hate. 


I  stood  again  above  ground,  in  the  shell  craters.  Other 
shells  were  coming  over  my  head  with  their  indescribable 
whooping,  and  the  black  shrapnel  was  still  bursting  about 
the  fields,  and  the  Germans  were  dropping  five-point-nines 
along  a  line  a  hundred  yards  away. 

"Be  careful  about  those  dug-outs,"  said  an  officer.  "Some 
of  them  have  charged  mines  inside,  and  there  may  be  Ger- 
mans still  hiding  in  them." 

Two  Germans  were  found  hiding  there  to-day.  Some  of 
our  men  found  themselves  being  sniped,  and  after  a  search 
found  that  the  shots  were  coming  from  a  certain  section 
of  trench  in  which  there  were  communicating  dug-outs. 

After  cunning  trappers'  work  they  isolated  one  dug-out  in 
which  the  snipers  were  concealed. 

"Come  out  of  that,"  shouted  our  men.  "Surrender  like 
good  boys." 

But  the  only  answer  they  had  was  a  shot. 


64.  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

The  dug-out  was  bombed,  but  the  men  went  through  an 
underground  passage  into  another  one.  Then  a  charge  of 
ammonal  was  put  down  and  the  dug-out  blown  to  bits. 


This  afternoon,  while  I  was  still  on  the  battlefield  of 
Montauban,  a  great  thunderstorm  broke.  It  was  sudden 
and  violent,  and  rain  fell  in  sheets.  The  sky  became  black 
with  a  greenish  streak  in  it  when  the  lightning  forked  over 
the  high  wooded  ridges  towards  La  Boiselle  and  above 
Fricourt  Wood. 

"Heaven's  artillery!"  said  an  officer,  and  his  words  were 
not  flippant.  There  was  something  awe-inspiring  in  the 
darkness  that  closed  in  upon  these  battlefields  and  the  great 
rolls  of  thunder  that  mingled  with  the  noise  of  the  guns. 
Artillery  observation  was  impossible,  but  the  guns  still  fired, 
and  their  flashes  were  as  vivid  as  the  lightning,  revealing 
through  the  murk  the  dark  figures  of  marching  men,  and 
the  black  woods  slashed  with  shell-fire  just  above  Montau- 
ban. In  a  little  while  the  low-lying  ground  was  flooded,  so 
that  the  guns  in  the  valleys  were  in  water,  and  the  horse 
transport  splashed  through  ponds,  scattering  fountains 
above  their  axles,  and  rivers  ran  down  the  broken  trenches 
of  the  old  German  line. 

I  stood  in  the  storm  watching  this  scene  of  war,  and  the 
gloom  and  terror  of  it  closed  about  me. 


V 

THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  LEFT 


I 

Julys 
Last  night  and  this  morning  the  enemy  made  attempts  to 
drive  our  men  out  of  their  positions  at  Thiepval,  but  were 
repulsed  with  heavy  losses.  Their  bombers  advanced  in 
strong  numbers  upon  the  Leipzig  trench,  south  of  the  village 
of  Thiepval,  and  at  the  same  time  north  of  the  cemetery  to 
St.  Pierre  Divion,  but  in  neither  case  did  they  have  any 
success. 

At  other  parts  of  the  line,  between  La  Boiselle  and 
Montauban,  there  were  bombardments  by  the  enemy's  bat- 
teries and  by  our  own;  and  by  hard  fighting  we  have  cap- 
tured Peak  trench  and  the  important  system  of  trenches 
known  as  the  Quadrangle,  north-east  of  La  Boiselle  and 
on  the  way  to  Contalmaison. 

Standing  to-day  on  the  battlefield  north  of  Ovillers-la- 
Boiselle,  I  was  able  to  look  over  a  wide  area  of  the  zone  of 
fire,  and  to  see  our  new  positions.  Straight  in  front  of  me 
was  Thiepval  Wood,  marked  by  a  ragged  fringe  of  broken 
trees,  through  which  appeared  the  ruins  of  the  village. 

Heavy  shells  were  falling  there  and  our  shrapnel  was 
bursting  thickly  upon  the  high  ground  held  by  the  enemy. 
To  the  left  of  me  was  Beaumont-Hamel,  opposite  Auchon- 
villers,  and  the  village  of  Authuille. 

It  is  historic  ground.  A  hundred  years  hence  men  of 
our  blood  will  come  here  with  reverence  as  to  sacred  soil. 
For  over  this  stretch  of  country,  a  few  miles  wide,  has  been 
fought  one  of  the  great  battles  of  history,  and  here  many 

65 


66  THE  BATTLES  OP  THE  SOMME 

thousands  of  our  men  advanced  upon  the  enemy  with  a 
spirit  of  marvellous  self-sacrifice,  beyond  the  ordinary 
courage  of  men. 

They  faced  hellish  fires,  but  without  faltering.  There  was 
not  one  man  who  turned  and  fled  at  a  time  when  the  bravest 
of  them  might  have  quailed.  They  were  all  heroes  worthy 
of  the  highest  honour  which  may  be  given  for  valour  in  the 
field.  Something  supernatural  seemed  to  animate  these  bat- 
talions of  English  boys  and  these  battalions  of  Irish  and 
Scots,  so  that  they  went  forward  into  furnace  fires  at 
Beaumont  Hamel  and  Gommecourt  as  though  to  fair  fields, 
and  when  many  of  them  stood  in  the  very  presence  of  death 
it  was  to  the  cry  of  "No  surrender!"  Then  they  went 
forward  again  to  meet  their  fate. 


Their  lasses  were  heavy.  It  is  tragic  as  well  as  wonder- 
ful, this  story  of  our  advance  upon  the  German  lines,  when 
we  captured  their  trenches  by  an  assault  that  could  not  be 
resisted  at  first  even  by  overwhelming  gunfire.  I  have 
spoken  to  Brigadiers  who  mourn  many  of  their  dear  men. 
The  agony  in  their  eyes  made  it  difficult  to  face  them.  The 
number  of  casualties  was  high,  throughout  the  whole  length 
of  front  on  the  left  of  our  attack,  and  inevitable  because  the 
valour  of  the  men  counted  no  cost  in  their  assault  against 
positions  terribly  strong,  as  they  knew,  but  not  stronger 
than  their  resolve  to  carry  them. 

The  enemy's  losses  were  frightful,  too,  and  his  courage 
great.  It  was  because  very  brave  men  were  on  both  sides 
that  the  battlefield  in  this  region  was  strewn  with  stricken 
men. 

They  were  men  of  the  North  Country  who  were  on  the 
left  of  our  attack  between  Ovillers-La  Boiselle  and  a  point 
south  of  Hebuterne.  As  soon  as  our  bombardment  lifted 
at  7.30  on  the  morning  of  July  i  the  brigade  left  its  trenches 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  LEFT  61 

and  advanced  line  by  line  in  perfect  order  as  though  on 
parade. 

The  ground  in  front  of  them  was  wrecked  by  our  shell- 
fire.  Several  times  during  the  bombardment  the  trenches 
had  heaved  and  changed  their  form,  so  that  all  the  con- 
tours of  the  earth  were  altered.  But  there  were  many  men 
still  left  alive  below  ground  in  the  German  dug-outs,  those 
deep  dug-outs  of  theirs  that  go  below  the  reach  of  even  the 
heaviest  shells,  and  with  them  were  many  machine-guns  and 
deadly  weapons. 

Behind  them  also  was  a  great  concentration  of  artillery, 
for  it  is  evident  that  the  enemy  had  expected  attack  here, 
perhaps  our  main  attack,  and  had  massed  his  heaviest  guns 
at  this  point.  His  barrage  was  immense  in  its  effect  of  fire 
upon  our  trenches  and  the  ground  between  ours  and  his. 
To  reach  his  line  our  men  had  to  pass  through  a  wall  of 
bursting  shells.  Our  own  barrage  continued  intensely,  but 
at  the  moment  of  the  infantry  attack  the  German  soldiers 
stood  up  on  their  parapets  in  the  very  face  of  this  bombard- 
ment and  fired  upon  our  advancing  men  with  automatic 
rifles. 

Their  machine-gunners  also  showed  an  extreme  courage, 
and  with  amazing  audacity  forced  their  way  over  the  broken 
parapets  into  No  Man's  Land  and  swept  our  ranks  with  a 
scythe  of  bullets.  Numbers  of  our  men  dropped,  but  others 
went  on,  charging  the  machine-guns  with  fixed  bayonets, 
hurling  bombs  at  the  men  on  the  parapets,  and  forcing  their 
way  into  and  across  the  German  trenches.  Wave  after 
wave  followed,  and  those  who  did  not  fall  went  on,  into 
the  enemy's  first  line,  into  the  enemy's  second  line,  then  on 
again  to  his  third  line,  and  by  a  kind  of  miracle  even  to 
his  fourth  line.  There  were  men  who  went  as  far  as  Serre. 
They  never  came  back. 

The  enemy's  guns  kept  up  a  continuous  bombardment 
from  7.30  till  mid-day,  like  an  incessant  roll  of  drums,  and 
the  ground  over  which  our  men  continued  to  advance  was 
cratered  like  a  system  of  trous-de-loups.     An  orderly  whc^, 


68  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

tried  to  come  back  with  a  message  from  the  men  in  front 
was  buried  three  times  on  his  way,  but  struggled  out  and 
deHvered  his  report.  Human  courage  could  not  reach 
greater  heights  than  these  men  showed. 


On  the  right  of  these  North  Countrymen  were  other  bod- 
ies of  troops  from  the  West  of  England,  the  Midlands,  and 
Eastern  Counties,  with  battalions  of  Irish  and  Scottish 
troops.  They,  too,  had  to  face  a  great  ordeal.  When 
they  went  towards  the  German  trenches,  not  at  a  rush,  but 
at  parade  step,  under  a  storm  of  shells,  the  enemy  came  up 
out  of  their  dug-outs,  and  with  machine-guns  and  rifles,  and 
fought  very  stubbornly,  even  when  the  Midland  men  and 
other  English  troops  reached  them  with  bombs  and  bayo- 
nets. There  was  a  fierce  corps-a-corps  in  the  first-line  trench 
until  most  of  the  enemy  were  killed. 

Then  our  men  went  on  to  the  second  German  line  under 
still  fiercer  fire.  By  this  time  they  were  in  an  inferno  of 
shell  fire  and  smoke  as  nothing  was  seen  of  them  by  ar- 
tillery observers  until  at  8.45  some  rockets  went  up  very  far 
into  the  German  lines  showing  that  some  of  the  Territorials 
had  got  as  far  as  their  last  objective.  Some  of  the  infantry 
(they  were  two  of  the  Essex  Regiments  and  the  King's  Own 
of  the  4th  Division)  went  as  far  as  Pendant  Copse  south- 
east of  Serre.  Messages  came  through  from  them.  Urgent 
messages  calling  for  help.    "For  God's  sake  send  us  bombs." 

But  the  enemy's  gun-fire  was  so  violent  and  so  deep  in  its 
barrage  that  nothing  could  pass  through  it,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  send  up  relief  to  men  who  had  gone  too  far  in 
their  keen  desire  to  break  the  German  lines. 

A  little  further  south  were  some  Irish,  Welsh,  and  Scot- 
tish troops.  When  they  left  their  trenches  our  bombard- 
ment was  still  at  its  full  weight,  but  suddenly  the  noise  of  it 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  LEFT  69 

was  obliterated  entirely,  so  that  not  a  gun  was  heard,  by 
a  new  and  more  terrible  sound. 

It  was  the  sound  as  though  great  furnace  fires  were  weep- 
ing flames  across  No  Man's  Land  with  a  steady  blast,  and 
it  came  from  German  machine-guns  in  the  stronghold  of 
Beaumont  Hamel  and  from  more  German  machine-guns  in 
concrete  emplacements  which  had  escaped  our  gunfire  upon 
the  enemy's  trenches. 

Many  of  our  men  fell.  Some  of  the  Irish  troops  (the 
Ulster  men)  lost  severely.  But  other  ranks  marched  on,  not 
quickly,  but  at  a  quiet  leisurely  pace,  never  faltering  as  gaps 
were  made  in  their  ranks. 

Some  of  them  did  not  even  trouble  to  wear  their  steel 
casques,  but  carried  them,  as  though  for  future  use  if  need 
be.  And  they  went  across  the  German  trenches  and  right 
ahead  into  the  very  heart  of  a  storm  of  fire,  too  quickly,  in 
spite  of  their  calm  way  of  going,  because  they  did  not  clear 
the  German  dug-outs  as  they  passed,  and  men  came  out  and 
bombed  them  from  the  rear.  South  of  Beaumont  Hamel 
were  some  other  battalions,  whose  advance  was  upon  Thiep- 
val  Wood,  and  they  fought  with  extraordinary  resolution 
and  hardihood. 

It  was  they  who  shouted  "No  surrender!"  as  their  battle- 
cry,  and  these  tough,  hard  gallant  men  forced  their  way 
forward  over  ground  raked  by  every  kind  of  shot  and  shell. 
The  enemy's  trenches  could  not  resist  their  attack,  and  they 
stormed  their  way  through,  killing  many  of  the  enemy  who 
resisted  them.  In  Thiepval  Wood,  where  the  trees  were 
slashed  by  shrapnel,  they  collected  their  strength,  formed 
into  line,  and  stood  the  shock  of  several  German  counter- 
attacks. Then  they  charged  and  flung  down  the  enemy's 
ranks,  taking  more  than  200  prisoners. 

Another  counter-attack  was  made  upon  the  soldiers  who 
had  forced  their  way  to  the  outskirts  of  Thiepval  village, 
from  which  there  came  an  incessant  chatter  of  machine-gun 
fire.    Some  of  them  were  cut  off  from  all  support,  but  they 


70  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

fought  forward,  and  the  shout  of  "No  surrender!"  came 
from  them  again,  though  they  were  sure  of  death. 

This  attack  by  our  troops  on  the  left  of  the  theatre  of 
attack  is  one  of  the  greatest  revelations  of  human  courage 
ever  seen  in  history.  The  tragedy  of  it — for  the  loss  of 
many  brave  men  makes  it  tragic — is  brightened  by  the  shin- 
ing valour  of  all  these  splendid  soldiers,  to  whom  death,  in 
those  great  hours,  had  no  kind  of  terror. 

The  lightly  wounded  men  who  came  back,  and  there  were 
large  numbers  of  lightly  wounded  men,  were  proud  of  their 
adventure  and  hopeful  of  victory.  They  had  no  panic  in 
their  eyes  or  hearts.  It  was  a  weary  walk  for  many  of 
them  down  to  the  Red  House,  where  their  wounds  were 
staunched.  They  had  two  miles  to  go,  and  it  was  a  long 
two  miles  to  men  weak  from  the  loss  of  blood,  dizzy,  tired 
to  the  point  of  death.  Some  of  them  staggered  and  fell 
at  the  very  gate  of  the  dressing  station,  but  even  then  they 
spoke  brave  words  and  said,  "We've  got  'em  on  the  run !" 

The  enemy  behaved  well,  I  am  told,  to  our  wounded  men 
at  some  parts  of  the  line,  and  helped  them  over  the  para- 
pets. This  makes  us  loth  to  tell  other  stories,  not  so  good. 
Let  us  not  think,  just  now,  of  the  ugliness  of  battle,  but 
rather  of  the  beauty  of  these  men  of  ours,  who  were  forget- 
ful of  self  and  faced  the  cruellest  fire  with  a  high  and  noble 
courage. 


VI 
THE  LONDON  MEN  AT  GOMMECOURT 


I 

July  19 
As  long  ago  as  Loos,  which  seems  an  enormous  time  ago, 
it  was  proved  that  London  produces  men  of  great  fighting 
qualities,  not  weakened  by  City  life,  and,  in  spite  of  more 
sensitive  nerves  than  country-bred  men,  able  to  stand  the 
strain  of  battle  just  as  well,  with  a  quick  intelligence  in  a 
tight  comer,  and  with  pride  and  imagination  that  do  not 
let  them  surrender  self-respect. 

"London  men  fight  on  their  nerves,"  said  one  of  our 
Generals  the  other  day,  "but  they  make  great  soldiers.  More 
stolid  men  often  give  way  to  shell  shock  and  strain  more 
easily  than  the  Londoner,  with  all  his  sensibility," 

In  our  great  attack  of  July  i  some  of  the  London  bat- 
talions again  showed  a  very  fine  courage  and  a  most  self- 
sacrificing  devotion  to  duty  in  hours  of  supreme  ordeal. 

They  broke  the  German  line  at  Gommecourt  and  when 
ill-luck  beset  them  on  either  side,  so  that  they  found  them- 
selves in  utterly  untenable  positions,  with  heavy  losses,  they 
held  on  stubbornly  against  the  enemy's  counter-attacks,  and 
suffered  all  that  war  can  make  men  suffer — there  is  hardly 
a  limit  to  that,  God  knows — with  Stoic  endurance. 

These  men  belonged  to  old  Volunteer  regiments,  famous 
in  times  of  peace,  when  once  a  year  young  City  clerks  and 
professional  men  took  a  fortnight's  leave  at  Easter  for 
manoeuvres  on  Salisbury  Plain,  and  came  back  rather  stiff 
and  rather  bronzed,  with  stories  of  sham  fights  and  jolly 
bivouacs  at  night,  and  smoking  concerts  with  good  fellows 

71 


72  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

who  lead  a  chorus.  It  was  a  great  adventure — in  times  of 
peace ! 

But  even  when  the  Volunteers  changed  their  form  into 
the  Territorials  and  war  tightened  up  in  discipline,  and  at- 
tended more  drills  and  had  a  harder  time  in  camp,  no  man 
guessed  that  before  a  year  or  two  had  passed  the  Queen's 
Westminsters  would  be  fighting  through  hell-fire  in  France, 
or  that  "the  old  Vies" — the  Queen  Victoria  Rifles — would 
be  smashing  through  German  barbed  wire  under  machine- 
gun  fire,  or  that  the  Rangers  and  the  London  Rifle  Brigade 
and  the  London  Scottish  would  be  crossing  ground,  strewn 
with  dead  and  wounded,  in  a  storm  of  high  explosives. 

"Punch"  made  funny  pictures  about  this  amateur  soldier- 
ing. The  "Terriers"  were  not  thought  to  count  for  much  by 
military  critics  who  had  seen  service  in  South  Africa.  .  .  . 

Well,  in  this  war  the  Territorial  infantry  and  the  Terri- 
torial gunners  have  counted  for  a  great  deal,  and  during 
these  last  few  days  they  have  proved  themselves,  once  again, 
great  soldiers — great  in  attack  and  great  in  resistance. 


When  the  four  leading  battalions  left  their  trenches  near 
Gommecourt  at  7.30  after  the  great  bombardment  of  the 
German  position  they  had  a  long  way  to  go  before  they 
reached  the  enemy's  front  lines. 

No  Man's  Land  was  a  broad  stretch  of  ground,  400 
yards  across  in  some  parts,  and  not  less  than  200  yards  at 
the  narrowest  point. 

It  was  a  long,  long  journey  in  the  open,  for  50  yards,  or 
20,  are  long  enough  to  become  a  great  graveyard  if  the  en- 
emy's machine-guns  get  to  work. 

But  they  advanced  behind  dense  smoke-clouds,  which 
rolled  steadily  towards  the  German  trenches  and  kept  down 
the  machine-gunners  in  their  dug-outs.  Unlike  the  experi- 
ence of  most  of  our  men  in  other  parts  of  the  line,  they 


THE  LONDON  MEN  AT  GOMMECOURT       73 

escaped  lightly  from  machine-gun  fire,  and  their  chief  risk 
was  from  the  barrage  of  shell-fire  which  the  enemy  flung 
across  No  Man's  Land  with  some  intensity. 

But  the  Londoners  started  forward  to  this  line  of  high 
explosives  and  went  on  and  through  at  a  quick  pace,  in  open 
order.  On  the  left  was  the  London  Rifle  Brigade,  in  the 
centre  came  the  Rangers  and  "Vies.,"  on  the  right  the  Lon- 
don Scottish,  and,  behind,  the  Queen's  Westminsters  and 
Kensingtons,  who  were  to  advance  through  the  others. 

Men  fell  across  the  open  ground,  caught  by  flying  bits  of 
shell  or  buried  by  the  great  bursts  of  high  explosives  which 
opened  up  the  earth.  But  the  others  did  not  look  back, 
afraid  to  weaken  themselves  by  the  sight  of  their  stricken 
comrades,  and  at  a  great  pace,  half  walking  and  half  run- 
ning, reached  the  German  line.  It  was  no  longer  a  system 
of  trenches. 

It  was  a  sea  of  earth  with  solid  waves.  Our  heavy  guns 
had  annihilated  parapet  and  parados,  smashed  the  timbers 
into  matchwood,  strewn  sandbags  into  rubbish  heaps,  and 
made  a  great  wreckage.  But  German  industry  below  ground 
was  proof  against  all  this  shell-fire,  and  many  of  the  dug- 
outs still  stood. 

They  were  full  of  Germans,  for  the  line  was  strongly 
held,  and  many  of  these  men  came  up  with  their  machine- 
guns  and  bombs  to  resist  the  attack.  But  the  Londoners 
sprang  upon  them,  swept  over  them,  and  captured  the  front 
network  of  trenches  with  amazing  speed. 

It  was  not  a  steady-going  business,  slow  and  deliberate. 
The  quick  mind  of  the  London  man  spurred  him  to  quick 
action. 

He  did  not  linger  to  collect  souvenirs,  or  to  chat  with 
English-speaking  Germans.  "London  leads !"  was  the  shout 
of  Victorias  and  Westminsters. 

The  London  Scottish  were  racing  forward  on  the  right 
with  their  brown  kilts  swinging  across  the  broken  ground. 
But  the  officers  kept  their  heads  and  as  much  order  as  pos- 
sible at  such  a  time. 


74  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

They  held  back  enough  men  to  clear  the  dug-outs  and 
collect  prisoners — the  best  kind  of  souvenirs. 

Two  hundred  of  them  were  captured  in  the  dugouts  and 
brought  up  and  sent  back  over  the  place  that  had  been  No 
Man's  Land  and  now,  for  a  time,  was  ours. 

At  least  200  came  back,  but  there  were  many  more  who 
never  got  back,  though  they  started  on  the  journey  under 
armed  guard. 


The  enemy's  artillery  was  increasing  the  density  of  the 
barrage  upon  our  old  front-line  trenches  and  the  ground  in 
front  of  it. 

He  made  a  wall  of  high  explosives  through  which  no 
living  thing  could  pass.  The  escorts  and  their  prisoners 
tried  to  pass — and  failed. 

At  the  time  the  London  men  fighting  forward  did  not 
think  of  that  barrage  behind  them.  They  were  eager  to  get 
on,  to  be  quick  over  the  first  part  of  their  business  before 
taking  breath  for  the  next. 

And  they  got  on  with  astounding  speed.  In  less  than 
the  time  it  has  taken  me  to  write  this  narrative  No  Man's 
Land  had  been  crossed,  the  trenches  had  been  taken,  the 
prisoners  collected  and  sent  back  on  their  way,  and  Ger- 
man strongholds  and  redoubts  behind  the  first  system  of 
trench  work  had  been  seized  by  London  regiments. 

It  would  have  taken  them  longer  to  walk  from  Charing- 
cross  to  St.  Paul's-churchyard  with  no  Germans  in  the  way. 
It  was  the  quickest  bit  of  work  that  has  been  done  by  any 
freemen  of  the  city. 

The  Riflemen  had  swarmed  into  a  strong  point  on  the  left, 
knocking  out  the  machine-guns,  and  on  the  right  the  Lon- 
don Scots  were  holding  a  strong  redoubt  in  a  very  ugly  cor- 
ner of  ground.  Everything  had  been  won  that  London  had 
been  asked  to  win. 

Before  some  hours  had  passed  these  London  soldier.^ 


THE  LONDON  MEN  AT  GOMMECOURT        75 

knew  that  they  were  in  a  death-trap  and  cut  off  from  es- 
cape. 

Owing  to  the  ,8:reat  strength  of  the  enemy  to  the  right  and 
left  of  the  position  where  they  had  concentrated  masses  of 
guns,  and  where  the  ground  was  more  difficult  to  carry,  the 
troops  on  either  side  of  the  Londoners,  in  spite  of  heroic 
courage  and  complete  self-sacrifice,  had  advanced  so  far. 

The  London  men  had  therefore  thrust  forward  a  salient 
into  the  German  lines,  and  were  enclosed  by  the  enemy. 

Behind  them,  on  the  way  to  their  own  lines,  the  enemy's 
barrage  was  steadily  becoming  more  violent.  Having 
stopped  the  other  attacks  to  the  north  and  south,  he  was 
now  able  to  concentrate  the  fire  of  his  guns  upon  the 
ground  in  the  London  area,  and  by  the  early  afternoon  he 
had  smashed  our  trenches  and  communication  trenches, 
while  still  flinging  out  a  line  of  high  explosives  to  prevent 
supports  coming  up  to  the  men  who  were  in  the  captured 
salient. 

They  were  cut  off,  and  had  no  other  means  of  rescue  but 
their  own  courage. 

Desperate  efforts  were  made  by  their  comrades  behind  to 
send  up  supplies  of  ammunition  and  other  means  of  defence. 
The  carrying  parties  attempted  again  and  again  to  cross 
No  Man's  Land,  but  suffered  heavy  casualties. 

One  party  of  60  men,  with  supplies  of  hand  grenades, 
set  out  on  this  journey,  but  only  three  came  back.  Single 
men  went  on  with  a  few  grenades,  determined  to  carry  some 
kind  of  support  to  the  men  in  front,  but  fell  dead  or 
wounded  before  they  reached  their  goal. 

On  the  right  the  London  Scottish  were  holding  on  to 
their  redoubt,  building  barricades  and  beating  off  the  Ger- 
man bombers.  But  as  the  hours  passed  ammunition  became 
scarce.  Our  supplies  of  bombs  were  almost  exhausted,  here 
and  there  quite  exhausted.  The  London  men  went  about 
collecting  German  bombs,  and  for  some  time  these  served, 
but  not  enough  could  be  found  to  maintain  effective  fire. 
The  position  l^ecame  more  ugly. 


76  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

But  the  men  did  not  lose  heart.  In  those  bad  hours  there 
were  many  men  who  showed  great  quahties  of  courage,  and 
were  great  captains  whatever  their  rank.  One  officer — to 
mention  only  one — was  splendid  when  things  were  worst. 

He  had  taken  command  of  a  company  when  his  senior 
officer  was  killed  in  the  first  assault,  and  kept  his  men  in 
good  heart  so  that  they  could  organise  a  defence  against  the 
enemy's  counter-attacks. 

They  were  surrounded  by  German  grenadiers  and  suf- 
fered heavily  from  artillery,  machine-gun  and  sniping  fire. 
The  number  of  the  wounded  increased  steadily.  The  bomb- 
ing party  keeping  the  enemy  back  flung  all  their  bombs,  and 
then  had  empty  hands  and  were  helpless.  Not  many  rounds 
of  ammunition  were  left  for  the  riflemen.  After  that  there 
would  be  no  defence.  But  the  officer  would  not  give  way  to 
hopelessness.  He  rallied  six  or  seven  good  men  about  him, 
and  ordered  the  others  to  retreat  with  the  wounded  and  take 
their  chance  across  No  Man's  Land  while  he  put  up  a  last 
fight. 

With  his  small  band  he  held  the  barricade  until  the  others 
had  gone  away,  and  held  on  still  until  all  but  two  of  his 
men  were  killed. 

He  was  the  last  to  leave,  and  by  a  miracle  of  luck  came 
back  to  his  own  lines  unwounded,  except  for  a  few  scars  and 
scratches.  The  courage  of  the  man  and  his  fine  spirit  saved 
the  situation  at  the  most  critical  time,  and  saved  also  many 
good  lives. 

There  were  many  men  of  fine  valour  there.  Men  of 
London,  not  bred  for  war,  and  liking  life  as  one  sees  it  when 
there  are  pretty  faces  in  Kensington  Gardens,  and  when 
there's  sunlight  on  the  windows  in  the  Strand,  and  when 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  rises  like  a  white  cloud  above  the 
busses  in  Ludgate-hill. 


THE  LONDON  MEN  AT  GOMMECOURT       77 


One  of  them  was  a  lance-corporal  who  was  wounded  in 
two  places,  so  badly  that  his  right  arm  hung  useless  by  his 
side.    But  he  would  not  give  in. 

"If  I  can't  use  a  weapon,"  he  said,  "I  can  give  a  lead  to 
my  chums."  And  he  gave  them  a  lead,  taking  charge  of  a 
group  of  men  holding  the  left  flank  of  a  position,  organising 
them  into  bombing  parties,  and  directing  them  to  build  bar- 
ricades. He  held  on  to  his  post  until  the  German  attack 
became  too  strong  and  was  the  last  to  leave. 

A  boy  in  the  London  Scottish — I  played  at  ball  with  him 
once  in  an  old  garden  when  there  was  laughter  in  the  world 
— escaped  death  by  a  kind  of  miracle. 

The  trench  he  was  in,  with  forty  men,  was  being  shelled 
to  bits,  and  rather  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Germans 
he  decided  to  attempt  escape.  With  one  of  his  sergeants  he 
made  his  way  towards  our  lines,  but  had  only  gone  a  short 
distance  when  the  sergeant  was  shot  dead. 

A  bullet  came  a  moment  later  and  struck  my  friend.  It 
was  deflected  from  his  brandy  flask  and  went  through  his 
thigh,  knocking  him  head  over  heels  into  a  shell-hole.  Here 
he  lay  for  some  hours  until  it  was  dark,  when  he  succeeded 
in  crawling  back  to  his  lines. 

He  was  the  only  one  saved  of  his  forty  comrades. 

Gradually  the  men  withdrew,  straggling  back  across  No 
Man's  Land,  which  was  still  under  great  shell-fire,  so  that 
the  way  of  escape  was  full  of  peril. 

It  was  the  turn  of  the  stretcher-bearers,  and  they  worked 
with  great  courage.  And  here  one  must  pay  a  tribute  to 
the  enemy. 

"We  had  white  men  against  us,"  said  one  of  the  officers, 
"and  they  let  us  get  in  our  wounded  without  hindrance  as 
soon  as  the  fight  was  over." 

It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  they  acted  with  humanity,  and 
one  wishes  to  God  that  they  would  not  use  such  foul  means 


78  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

of  destruction  as  those  newly  invented  by  chemists  with 
devilish  cruelty. 

The  soldiers  are  better  than  their  scientists,  and  in  this 
case  at  least  they  remembered  the  spirit  of  chivalry  which 
they  have  not  often  remembered  in  all  the  foulness  of  this 
war. 

It  was  difficult  enough  to  get  in  the  wounded.  Many  of 
them  could  not  be  found  or  brought  back  and  stayed  on  the 
field  of  battle  suffering  great  anguish  for  days  and  nights. 
One  man  who  was  wounded  early  in  the  battle  of  July  i 
crawled  over  to  three  other  wounded  men  and  stayed  with 
them  until  the  night  of  July  6. 

During  that  time  he  tended  his  comrades,  who  were 
worse  than  he  was,  and  went  about  among  dead  men  gath- 
ering food  and  water  from  their  haversacks  and  bottles. 

But  for  him  his  friends  would  have  died.  On  the  night 
of  the  6th  he  succeeded  in  getting  back  to  our  lines  across 
that  awful  stretch  of  No  Man's  Land,  and  then  insisted  upon 
going  back  as  the  guide  of  the  stretcher-bearers  who  brought 
in  the  others. 


mi 

THE  MEN  WHO  FOUGHT  AT  FRICOURT 


I 

July  6 
There  is  something  strangely  inhuman  in  the  aspect  of  a* 
battle  watched  from  the  edge  of  its  furnace  fires,  or  even 
as  I  stood  watching  it  within  the  crescent  of  our  guns.  Bat- 
talions move  forward  like  ants  across  the  field,  and  one  can- 
not see  the  light  in  men's  eyes  nor  distinguish  between  one 
man  and  another. 

In  this  war  and  in  this  latest  battle  I  have  seen  the  quality 
of  manhood  uplifted  to  wonderful  heights  of  courage  be- 
yond the  range  of  normal  laws;  and  these  soldiers  of  ours, 
these  fine  and  simple  men  go  forward  to  the  highest  terrors 
with  such  singing  hearts  that  one  can  hardly  keep  a  little 
moisture  from  one's  eyes  when  they  go  passing  on  the 
roads. 

They  picked  wild  flowers  and  put  them  in  their  belts  and 
caps — red  poppies  and  blue  cornflowers — and  when  the 
word  came  to  march  again  they  went  forward  towards 
the  front  with  a  fine  swinging  pace  and  smiling  faces  under 
the  sweat  and  dust.    Yet  they  know  what  battle  means. 

I  went  to-day  again  among  the  men  who  fought  at  Fri- 
court.  Some  of  them  had  come  back  behind  the  lines,  and 
outside  their  billets  the  divisional  band  was  playing,  but  not 
to  much  of  an  audience,  for  of  those  who  fought  at  Fricourt 
in  the  first  assault  there  are  not  large  numbers  left.  The  of- 
ficers who  came  round  the  village  with  me  had  a  lonely  look. 
After  battle,  such  a  battle  as  this,  it  is  difficult  to  keep  the 
sadness  out  of  one's  eyes.    So  many  good  fellows  have  gone. 

79 


80  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

.  .  .  But  they  were  proud  of  their  men.  They  found  a  joy 
in  that.  The  men  had  done  gloriously.  They  had  won  their 
ground  and  held  it,  through  frightful  fire.  "The  men  were 
topping." 

There  were  a  lot  of  Yorkshire  men  among  them  who 
fought  at  Fricourt  and  it  was  those  I  saw  to-day.  They 
were  the  heroes,  with  other  North  Country  lads,  of  one  of 
the  most  splendid  achievements  of  British  arms  ever  written 
down  in  history. 

Some  of  them  were  still  shaken.  When  they  spoke  to  me 
their  words  faltered  now  and  then,  and  a  queer  look  came 
into  their  eyes.  But,  on  the  whole,  they  were  astoundingly 
calm,  and  had  not  lost  their  sense  of  humour.  Of  the  first 
advance  over  No  Man's  Land,  which  was  150  yards  across 
to  the  enemy's  front  line  trench,  some  of  these  men  could 
remember  nothing.    It  was  just  a  dreadful  blank. 

"I  was  just  mad  at  the  time,"  said  one  of  them.  "The 
first  thing  I  know  is  that  I  found  myself  scrambling  over 
the  German  parai>ets  with  a  bomb  in  my  hand.  The  dead 
were  lying  all  round  me." 

But  a  sergeant  there  remembered  all.  He  kept  his  wits 
about  him,  strangely  clear  at  such  a  time.  He  saw  that  his 
men  were  being  swept  with  machine-gun  fire,  so  that  they  all 
lay  down  to  escape  its  deadly  sc>i;he.  But  he  saw  also  that 
the  bullets  were  just  washing  the  ground  so  that  the  pros- 
trate men  were  being  struck  in  great  numbers. 

He  stood  up  straight  and  called  upon  the  others  to  stand, 
thinking  it  would  be  better  to  be  hit  in  the  feet  than  in  the 
head.  Then  he  walked  on  and  came  without  a  scratch  to 
the  German  front  line. 


Here  and  in  the  lines  behind  there  was  a  wreckage  of 
earth  from  our  bombardment,  but  several  of  the  dug-outs 
had  been  untouched  and  in  them  during  our  gunfire  men 
were  sitting  30  feet  down,  with  machine-guns  ready,  and 


THE  MEN  WHO  FOUGHT  AT  FRICOURT      81 

long  periscopes,  through  which  they  could  see  our  lines  and 
the  first  wave  of  advancing  men.  Before  the  word  reached 
them,  those  German  machine  gunners  had  rushed  upstairs 
and  behind  the  cover  of  their  wrecked  trenches  fired  bursts 
of  bullets  at  our  men. 

Each  gun  team  had  with  them  a  rifleman  who  was  a  crack 
shot,  and  who  obeyed  his  army  orders  to  pick  off  English 
officers.  So  they  sniped  our  young  lieutenants  with  cool 
and  cruel  deliberation.  Two  of  them  who  were  dressed  as 
privates  escaped  for  this  reason.     Many  of  the  others  fell. 

"With  so  many  officers  gone,"  said  one  of  the  Yorkshire 
lads,  "it  was  every  man  for  himself,  and  we  carried  on  as 
best  we  could." 

They  carried  on  as  far  as  the  second  and  third  lines,  in 
a  desperate  fight  with  German  soldiers  who  appeared  out 
of  the  tumbled  earth  and  flung  bombs  with  a  grim  refusal 
of  surrender. 

"Well,  if  you're  asking  for  it,"  said  one  of  our  men — and 
he  hurled  himself  upon  a  great  German  and  ran  his  bayonet 
through  the  man's  body. 

It  was  bloody  work  for  boys  who  are  not  butchers  by 
instinct.     Passion  caught  hold  of  them  and  they  saw  red. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  was,"  said  one  of  them  with  a 
queer  thought  fulness  in  his  eyes  as  he  groped  back  to  this 
moment  of  fierce  excitement.  "Before  I  went  over  I  had 
no  rage  in  me.  I  didn't  want  this  hand-to-hand  business. 
But  suddenly  I  found  myself  fighting  like  a  demon.  It  was 
my  life  or  theirs,  and  I  was  out  to  kill  first." 

There  was  not  much  killing  at  that  spot.  When  most 
of  our  men  were  within  ten  yards  many  of  the  Germans  who 
had  been  flinging  bombs  lifted  up  their  hands  and  cried 
"Mercy !"  to  those  whom  they  had  tried  to  blow  to  bits. 

It  was  rather  late  to  ask  for  mercy,  but  it  was  given  to 
them.  There  was  a  search  into  the  dug-outs — do  you  under- 
stand that  all  this  was  under  great  shell  fire? — and  many 
Germans  were  found  in  hiding  there. 

"I  surrender,"  said  a  German  officer,  putting  his  head 


82  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

out  of  a  hole  in  the  earth,  "and  I  have  a  wounded  man  with 
me."  "All  right/'  said  a  Yorkshire  sergeant;  "fetch  him 
up,  and  no  monkey  tricks." 

But  out  of  the  hole  came  not  one  man,  but  forty,  in  a 
long  file  that  seemed  never  to  end,  all  of  whom  said  "Kame- 
rad !"  to  the  sergeant,  who  answered,  "Good  day  to  you ! — 
and  how  many  more?" 

They  were  a  nuisance  to  him  then.  He  wanted  to  get  on 
and  this  was  waste  of  time.  But  he  sent  back  42  prisoners 
with  three  lightly  wounded  fellows  of  his  company — he 
could  not  spare  more — and  then  advanced  with  his  men  be- 
yond the  German  third  line. 

Bunches  of  men  were  straggling  forward  over  the  shell- 
broken  ground  towards  the  German  line  at  Crucifix  Trench, 
to  the  left  of  Fricourt. 

They  knew  that  this  trench  was  important,  that  their 
lives  were  well  given  if  they  could  capture  it.  And  these 
Yorkshire  boys  from  the  hills  and  dales  thought  nothing  of 
their  lives  so  that  they  could  take  it. 


They  unslung  their  bombs,  looked  to  the  right  and  left, 
where  German  heavies  were  falling,  cursed  the  chatter  of 
machine-guns  from  Fricourt  village,  and  said  "Come  on, 
lads!"  to  the  men  about  them.  Not  one  man  faltered  or 
turned  back,  or  lingered  with  the  doubt  that  he  had  gone 
far  enough. 

They  stumbled  forward  over  the  shell  craters,  over  dead 
bodies,  over  indescribable  things.  Crucifix  Trench  was 
reached.  It  was  full  of  Germans,  who  were  hurling  bombs 
from  it,  from  that  trench  and  the  sunken  road  near  by. 

The  Yorkshire  boys  went  through  a  barrage  of  bombs, 
hurled  their  own,  worried  through  the  broken  parapets  and 
over  masses  of  tumbled  earth,  and  fought  single  fights  with 


THE  MEN  WHO  FOUGHT  AT  FRICOURT      83 

big  Germans,  like  terrier  dogs  hunting  rats  and  worrying 
them.    Parties  bombed  their  way  down  the  sunken  road. 

Those  who  fell,  struck  by  German  bombs,  shouted  "Get  on 
to  'em,  lads,"  to  others  who  came  up.  In  bits  of  earthwork 
German  heads  looked  up,  white  German  faces,  bearded,  and 
covered  with  clay  like  dead  men  risen. 

They  put  up  trembling  hands  and  cried  their  word  of 
comradeship  to  those  enemy  boys. 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  a  Yorkshire  captain.  "We've 
got  the  Crucifix.  And  meanwhile  our  guns  are  giving  us 
the  devil." 


Our  gunners  did  not  know  that  Crucifix  Trench  was 
taken.     Some  of  our  shells  were  dropping  very  close. 

"It's  time  for  a  red  light,"  said  the  Yorkshire  captain. 
He  had  a  bullet  in  his  ribs,  and  was  suffering  terribly,  but 
he  still  commanded  his  men. 

A  red  rocket  went  up,  high  through  the  smoke  over  all 
this  corner  of  the  battlefield.  Somewhere  it  was  seen  by 
watchful  eyes,  in  some  O.P.  or  by  some  flying  fellow.  Our 
guns  lifted.  The  shells  went  forward,  crashing  into  Shelter 
Wood  beyond. 

"Good  old  gunners!"  said  a  sergeant.  "By  God,  they're 
playing  the  game  to-day !" 

But  other  men  had  seen  the  red  rocket  above  Crucifix 
Trench.  It  stood  in  the  sky  like  a  red  eye  looking  down 
upon  the  battlefield.  The  German  gunners  knew  that  the 
British  were  in  Crucifix  Trench.  They  lowered  their  gims 
a  point  or  two,  shortening  their  range,  and  German  shells 
came  crumping  the  earth,  on  either  side,  registering  the 
ground. 

"And  where  do  we  go  next,  captain?"  asked  a  Yorkshire 
boy.    It  seemed  he  felt  restless  where  he  was. 

The  captain  thought  Shelter  Wood  might  be  a  good  place 


84.  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

to  see.  He  chose  ten  men  to  see  it  with  him,  and  they  were 
very  wilHng. 

With  the  bullet  in  his  ribs — it  hurt  him  horribly — he 
climbed  out  of  Crucifix  Trench,  and  crawled  forward,  with 
his  ten  men  to  the  wood  beyond. 

It  was  full  of  Germans.  At  the  south-west  corner  of  it 
was  a  redoubt,  with  machine-guns  and  a  bomb-store.  The 
German  bombers  were  already  flinging  their  grenades  across 
to  the  Crucifix. 

The  wounded  captain  said  that  ten  men  were  not  enough 
to  take  Shelter  Wood — it  would  need  a  thousand  men,  per- 
haps, so  he  crawled  back  with  the  others. 

They  stayed  all  night  in  Crucifix  Trench,  and  it  was  a 
dreadful  night.  At  ten  o'clock  the  enemy  opened  an  intense 
bombardment  of  heavies  and  shrapnel,  and  maintained  it 
at  full  pitch  until  two  o'clock  next  morning. 

There  were  900  men  up  there  and  in  the  neighbourhood. 
When  morning  came  there  were  not  so  many,  but  the  others 
were  eager  to  get  out  and  get  on. 

The  Yorkshire  spirit  was  unbeaten.  The  grit  of  the 
North  Country  was  still  there  in  the  morning  after  the  first 
assault. 


Queer  adventures  overtook  men  who  played  a  lone  hand 
in  this  darkness  and  confusion  of  battle.  One  man  I  met 
to-day — true  Yorkshire,  with  steel  in  his  eyes  and  a  burr 
in  his  speech — it  was  strange  to  hear  the  Saxon  words  he 
used — rushed  with  some  of  his  friends  into  Birch  Tree 
Wood,  which  was  not  captured  until  two  days  later. 

There  were  many  Germans  there,  but  not  visible.  Sud- 
denly the  Yorkshire  lad  found  himself  quite  alone,  his  com- 
rades having  escaped  from  a  death-trap,  for  the  wood  was 
being  shelled — as  I  saw  myself  that  day — with  an  intense 
fire  from  our  guns. 

The  lonely  boy,  who  was  a  machine-gunner  without  his 


THE  MEN  WHO  FOUGHT  AT  FRICOURT      85 

gun,  thought  that  things  were  "pretty  thick,"  as,  indeed, 
they  were,  but  he  decided  that  the  risks  of  death  were  less 
if  he  stayed  still  than  if  he  moved. 

Presently,  as  he  crouched  low,  he  saw  a  German  coming. 
He  was  crawling  along  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  blood 
was  oozing  from  him.  As  he  crawled,  a  young  Yorkshire 
soldier,  also  badly  wounded,  passed  him  at  a  little  distance  in 
the  wood. 

The  German  stared  at  him.  Then  he  raised  himself, 
though  still  on  his  knees,  and  fired  at  the  boy  with  his  re- 
volver, so  that  he  fell  dead.  The  German  went  on  his 
hands  again  to  go  on  with  his  crawling,  but  another  shot 
ripped  through  the  trees,  and  he  crawled  no  more. 

It  was  fired  by  the  man  who  had  been  left  alone — the 
young  man  I  saw  to-day.  "I  killed  the  brute,"  he  said,  "and 
Fm  glad  of  it." 

Our  shells  were  bursting  very  fiercely  over  the  wood, 
slashing  off  branches  and  ploughing-up  the  earth.  The 
lonely  boy  searched  about  for  a  dug-out  and  found  one. 
When  he  went  down  into  it  he  saw  three  dead  Germans 
there,  and  he  sat  with  them  for  more  than  eight  hours  while 
our  bombardment  lasted.  There  was  another  lad  I  met 
who  was  also  a  machine-gunner,  and  alone  in  the  battle 
zone.  He  was  alone  when  fourteen  of  his  comrades  had 
been  knocked  out.  But  single-handed  he  carried  and  served 
his  gun,  from  one  place  to  another,  all  through  the  day,  and 
part  of  next  day,  sniping  odd  parties  of  Germans  with 
bursts  of  bullets. 

Another  sturdy  fellow  I  met  came  face  to  face  with  a  Ger- 
man, who  called  out  to  him  in  perfect  English. 

"Don't  shoot.  I  was  brought  up  in  England  and  played 
footer  for  Bradford  City.  ...  By  Jove!  I  know  your 
face,  old  man.  Weren't  you  at  the  Victoria  Hotel,  Shef- 
field?" 

It  was  a  queer  meeting  on  a  battlefield.  One  of  the  grim- 
mest things  I  have  heard  was  told  me  by  another  York- 
shire boy.    A  German  surrendered,  and  then  suddenly,  as 


86  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

this  lad  approached  to  make  him  prisoner,  pulled  the  det- 
onator of  a  bomb  and  raised  it  to  throw. 

"I  put  my  bayonet  right  close  to  him  so  suddenly  that 
he  was  terrified,  and  forgot  to  fling  his  bomb.  Then  a 
queer  kind  of  look  came  into  his  eyes.  He  remembered 
that  the  blooming  bomb  was  going  off.  It  went  off,  and 
blew  him  to  bits." 

That  is  war.  And  the  men  who  have  told  me  these 
things  are  young  men  who  do  not  like  the  things  they  have 
seen.  But,  because  it  is  war,  they  go  through  to  the  last 
goal  with  a  courage  that  does  not  quail. 

The  men  of  this  division  next  day  took  Shelter  Wood 
and  Fricourt,  and  captured  many  prisoners. 


VIII 
HOW  THE  PRUSSIANS  FELL  AT  CONTALMAISON 


I 

July  8 
After  the  first  four  days  of  battle  there  was  something  like 
a  lull  of  twenty-four  hours — a  lull  filled  with  the  great  noise 
of  guns — which  was  broken  by  fresh  assaults  made  by  our 
troops  in  the  direction  of  Mametz  Wood  and  Contalmaison, 
For  two  days  now — on  Thursday  and  Friday — there  has 
been  severe  fighting  in  that  territory,  and  although  we  lost 
Contalmaison  last  night  after  taking  it  in  the  morning,  it 
is,  I  am  sure,  only  a  temporary  set-back,  for  our  position  is 
strong  in  its  neighbourhood,  and  great  loss  has  been  in- 
flicted upon  the  enemy.  The  battle  of  Contalmaison,  not  yet 
finished,  will  be  a  distinct  and  important  episode  in  the 
history  of  this  campaign. 

I  was  able  to  see  something  of  the  battle — all  the  fierce 
picture  of  our  shell  fire — but,  at  the  time,  with  no  accurate 
idea  of  what  was  really  happening  beyond  our  guns,  and 
with  that  sense  of  confusion  and  mystery  which  all  soldiers 
have  when  they  are  on  the  battlefield,  knowing  very  little 
of  what  is  going  oi.  •'o  the  left  or  right  of  them,  not  know- 
ing what  is  happening  to  themselves,  or  why  they  stand 
where  they  do,  or  what  order  will  next  come  to  them,  or 
whether  our  men  are  doing  well  or  badly. 


It  was  early  in  the  morning  that  I  went  out  beyond  many 
of  our  batteries  and  watched  the  bombardment  that  was  to 

«7 


88  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

precede  the  infantry  attacks  upon  the  enemy's  positions  in 
front  of  Contalmaison  and,  to  the  right,  on  Mametz  Wood, 
where  some  of  our  men  held  the  south-west  comer.  There 
were  large  bodies  of  troops  about  on  high  ground  where 
our  old  trenches  are,  and  bunched  about  in  groups  beyond, 
up  a  slope  leading  to  the  line  from  which  our  attack  was 
to  be  made.  They  seemed  to  have  nothing  in  the  world  to 
do  except  hang  about  in  a  casual  way.  Many  of  them 
were  lying  on  the  grass,  or  along  roadsides,  asleep.  Not  all 
the  roar  of  the  guns  made  them  turn  uneasily.  They  had 
been  there  all  night,  waiting  to  go  up  in  support,  and  now, 
dog-tired,  they  were  taking  their  chance  of  rest. 

It  was  not  quite  a  safe  spot  for  sleep.  Although  the 
enemy's  guns  were  busy  on  different  places,  there  was  no 
knowing  whether  they  might  not  shift  a  point  or  two  this 
way  at  any  moment.  The  roadway  had  already  tempted 
some  of  their  shells  earlier  in  the  morning.  Tall  beech 
trees  here  and  there  had  been  cut  clean  in  half,  and  a  litter 
of  branches  and  foliage  lay  below  the  broken  stumps.  There 
were  new  shell  craters  in  the  field  over  the  way,  just  where 
a  company  of  R.A.M.C.  men  had  sat  down  on  their  stretch- 
ers, waiting  for  work.  But  nobody  seemed  to  worry. 
A  captain  of  Pioneers  spoke  to  me  and  said,  "Any  news?" 
He  was  a  middle-sized,  keen-looking  man,  with  a  humor- 
ous look  in  his  grey  eyes  which  were  shaded  by  a  steel  hel- 
met, khaki  covered.  He  was  as  muddy  as  a  scarecrow, 
and  shivered  a  little  after  his  night  in  the  rain. 

"Dashed  if  I  know  what's  happening,"  he  said ;  "one  never 
does.  Our  fellows  are  supposed  to  be  going  up,  but  no 
orders  come  along.  There's  our  adjutant,  waiting  for  'em." 
I  looked  across  the  road  and  saw  the  adjutant.  He  was 
lying  on  his  back,  quite  straight,  at  full  length,  with  his 
head  on  his  pack  and  his  waterproof  coat  over  him.  He 
was  profoundly  asleep. 

The  Pioneer  captain  pointed  towards  little  masses  of 
men  below  the  crest  of  the  rising  ground,  beyond  which 
were  hell-fires. 


THE  PRUSSIANS  AT  CONTALMAISON         89 

"I  thought  they  would  go  up  an  hour  ago,  but  they're  still 
waiting,  poor  lads.  I  expect  they'll  go  in  it  all  right  in  less 
than  half  an  hour." 

He  stared  towards  Mametz  village.  It  was  under  a  pall 
of  greenish  smoke,  and  not  a  minute  passed  without  a  big 
German  shell  bursting  over  it  and  raising  black  columns  of 
cloud. 

"Nasty  kind  of  place,"  said  the  Pioneer.  "Thought  I 
should  have  to  spend  the  night  there.  Glad  I  didn't,  though ! 
And  such  a  night!  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Exactly 
like  hell,  only  worse ;  a  sky  full  of  shells,  and  lights  bursting 
like  blazes.  A  regular  Brock's  benefit.  .  .  .  Hulloa,  some 
of  'em  are  going  up." 

The  men  who  were  in  small  bunches  on  the  low  ground 
were  getting  into  a  new  kind  of  order.  They  were  mov- 
ing up  towards  the  crest  in  extended  formation.   .  .  . 

A  German  shell  was  coming  our  way.  I  heard  its  high 
gobbling  note,  and  shifted  my  steel  hat  a  little,  and  hoped 
it  might  serve.  There  was  a  nasty  crash  fifty  yards  away 
below  the  road,  where  some  of  the  men  were  bunched.  .  .  . 
A  whistle  sounded,  and  the  R.A.M.C.  men,  who  had  been 
squatting  on  their  stretchers,  sprang  up  and  ran,  carrying 
their  stretchers,  down  a  side  track.  They  had  found  some 
work  to  do. 

Two  other  shells  came  closer,  and  we  changed  our  posi- 
tion a  little.    It  was  getting  rather  hot. 


But  not  so  hot  as  other  places,  compared  with  which  our 
ground  was  Paradise.  Mametz  Village,  behind  our  lines 
now,  was  being  shelled  heavily  by  the  enemy,  and  was  a 
very  ugly  spot,  but  even  that  was  a  health  resort,  as  soldiers 
say,  compared  with  any  of  the  German  positions  in  the 
neighbourhood-  of  Contalmaison.  Our  guns  were  concen- 
trating their  fire  along  a  line  north  of  Birch  Tree  Wood' 


90  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

from  Horseshoe  Trench,  now  in  our  hands,  across  to  Peak 
Wood  and  Quadrangle  Trench  away  to  Mametz  Wood  on 
the  right.  We  were  also  putting  a  terrific  barrage  round 
the  village  of  Contalmaison  and  Acid  Drop  Copse.  Our 
batteries,  heavy  and  light,  seemed  to  be  in  rings  round  this 
storm  centre. 

The  heavies  were  away  behind,  and  I  could  only  know 
their  existence  by  the  great  shells  that  came  rushing  over- 
head, from  invisible  places  at  long  range,  with  a  long  drone 
like  some  great  harp  plucked  by  old  god  Thor,  as  each  shell 
crossed  the  valley  and  smashed  over  the  enemy's  lines.  They 
came  in  great  numbers  and  from  half  the  points  of  the 
compass,  to  fall  upon  that  one  stretch  of  ground  a  mile  or 
so  broad.     Our  field  guns  were  not  invisible. 

I  could  see  them  winking  and  blinking  in  the  valleys 
and  up  the  slopes  as  far  as  the  eye  could  range.  They  fired 
salvoes  or  rounds  with  sharp  and  separated  rat-tat-tats. 
Every  kind  of  gun  and  howitzer — old  "Grandmothers,"  the 
long  six-inchers,  four-point-sevens,  French  soixante-quinze, 
and  our  own  eighteen  pounders — played  the  devil  over  the 
German  lines. 

I  think  it  was  about  eleven  that  they  lifted  and  put  a  dense 
barrage  of  shells  further  back.  For  the  first  time  in  my  ex- 
perience, this  moment  was  perceptible.  It  was  a  kind  of 
hush  for  just  a  second,  as  though  all  the  guns  were  taking 
breath.  Then  the  tumult  began  again,  while  the  infantry 
went  forward  into  and  through  the  smoke.  A  little  while 
later  I  saw  rockets  high  above  the  smoke  in  the  direction 
of  Contalmaison.  Something  told  me,  though  without  any 
certainty,  that  our  men  were  in  that  village. 


From  a  visual  point  of  view  that  is  all  I  can  tell,  but  to-day 
have  seen  some  of  the  officers  who  were  directing  this  bat- 
tle, and  what  happened  is  now  much  clearer,  though  not 


THE  PRUSSIANS  AT  CONTALMAISON         91 

absolutely  clear  in  all  its  details.  The  day  before  yesterday, 
after  heavy  fighting  in  the  early  stages  of  the  battle,  some 
of  our  battalions  took  possession  of  the  Horseshoe  Trench 
to  the  north-west  of  Birch  Tree  Wood  and  to  the  south-west 
of  Contalmaison.  Other  battalions  to  the  right  were  stretch- 
ing along  a  line  through  Birch  Tree  Wood  to  the  south  of 
Mametz  Wood.  A  curious  affair  was  happening  in  a  trench 
called  the  Old  Jaeger  Trench,  running  out  of  the  Horseshoe 
towards  a  German  redoubt  to  the  west  of  Peak  Wood. 

Part  of  this  trench  was  held  by  the  troops  on  the  left  and 
part  by  the  troops  on  the  right,  and  both  reported  and  be- 
lieved that  they  held  all  of  it.  The  truth  was  that  a  gap 
in  the  middle  was  still  held  by  a  party  of  Germans,  who 
had  machine-guns  and  bombs  with  which,  presently,  they 
made  themselves  unpleasant.  Orders  were  sent  to  clear 
the  trench  of  these  ugly  customers,  and  it  was  done  by  the 
troops  on  the  left.  Then  orders  were  given  to  clear  for- 
ward to  a  triangle  trench  to  the  right  of  the  Old  Jaeger. 
It  was  a  strong  redoubt,  and  the  Germans  defended  them- 
selves so  tenaciously  at  this  point  that  it  changed  hands 
three  times  before  our  men  held  it  for  good. 

It  yielded  finally  when  the  troops  on  the  right  fought 
their  way  up  to  Peak  Wood,  captured  it,  and  enfiladed  the 
enemy  with  machine-gun  fire.  At  that  moment  they  saw 
their  position  was  hopeless,  and  came  running  out  with 
their  hands  up.  Further  on  there  was  a  machine-gun  em- 
placement which  was  giving  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  but 
this  was  bombarded  and  rushed,  and  on  the  evening  of 
July  6  the  machine-gun,  to  use  the  words  of  one  of  the 
officers,  was  "done  in." 

Yesterday  morning  the  attack  following  the  bombardment 
extended  from  these  points  south-west  of  Contalmaison 
away  to  the  right.  Unfortunately,  although  the  fortune 
of  war  favoured  us  in  another  way,  the  troops  on  the 
right  were  unable  to  make  much  headway.  But  at  this  time 
an  extraordinary,  and,  for  the  enemy,  a  terrible,  thing  hap- 
pened.    Some  battalions  of  the  Prussian  Guard  Reserve, 


92  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

hurriedly  brought  up  a  day  or  two  ago  from  Valenciennes, 
and  thrown  into  this  battlefield  without  maps  or  guidance 
or  local  knowledge,  advanced  to  meet  our  men  on  the  right, 
and  walked  up,  by  an  awful  stroke  of  chance,  straight  into 
the  terrific  barrage  which  our  guns  had  just  started  round 
Contalmaison.    A  whole  battalion  was  cut  to  pieces. 

Many  others  suffered  frightful  things.  I  am  told  by  some 
of  the  prisoners  that  they  lost  three-quarters  of  their  num- 
ber in  casualties,  and  although  this  may  be  an  exaggeration 
— prisoners  always  have  the  tendency  to  exaggerate  their 
losses — it  is  certain  that  a  mass  of  men  were  killed  and 
wounded.  As  soon  as  our  barrage  lifted  our  troops  on 
the  right,  most  of  them  men  of  Yorkshire  and  northern 
counties,  swept  forward  and  without  great  trouble  entered 
Contalmaison  and  Bailifif  Wood  to  the  north-west.  It  was 
their  lights  which  I  had  seen  signalling  through  the  smoke. 

It  was  a  magnificent  success,  not  too  dearly  bought.  But 
just  when  our  position  looked  full  of  promise  for  the 
morrow  disappointing  news  came  in  last  night.  It  is  here 
that  the  details  of  what  happened  are  not  clear.  Germans 
were  reported  to  be  streaming  out  of  Mametz  Wood  towards 
Contalmaison,  apparently  to  make  a  counter-attack  there. 
The  enemy's  guns  were  shelling  the  place.  Rain  fell  heavily, 
and  our  men  who  had  fought  so  well  and  so  long  were 
exhausted. 

Owing  to  the  difficulty  of  communication  and  other 
troubles  which  happen  at  those  times,  the  situation  became 
confused,  and  late  in  the  evening  it  was  reported  that  Con- 
talmaison had  been  evacuated  as  a  temporary  measure  for 
defensive  reasons. 

At  the  same  time  it  was  also  reported  that  Mametz  Wood 
had  been  so  heavily  shelled  by  our  guns  that  much  damage 
had  been  inflicted  upon  the  Germans  inside,  some  of  whom 
had  escaped  to  our  lines.  We  are  now  holding  the  outskirts 
of  Contalmaison,  in,  or  in  the  neighbourhood  of,  the  ceme- 
tery, and,  I  believe,  Acid  Drop  Copse,  so  that  we  are  in  a 
sound  position  for  further  attack. 


THE  PRUSSIANS  AT  CONTALMAISON         08 


A  large  number  of  prisoners  were  taken,  and  they  came 
straggling  back  over  the  battlefield  in  miserable  little  groups. 
Some  of  them  carried  our  wounded  on  stretchers  or  on  their 
backs,  and  our  men  carried  their  wounded. 

They  were  the  remnants  of  the  3rd  Prussian  Guards  Di- 
vision which  has  been  so  utterly  broken  that  it  no  longer 
exists  as  a  fighting  unit.  Those  who  did  not  fall  into  our 
hands  have  been  withdrawn  from  the  line.  The  moral 
of  the  men  as  well  as  their  fighting  force  has  been  smashed. 
Even  the  officers  admit  that  they  have  no  more  stomach  for 
the  fight,  and  several  of  the  men  with  whom  I  spoke  to-day 
were  frank  in  saying  that  they  are  glad  to  be  prisoners 
to  be  safe  at  last  from  the  frightfulness  of  this  war. 

Some  of  them  told  me  that  after  leaving  Valenciennes  a 
few  days  ago,  after  our  attack  had  started,  they  were 
brought  to  Cambrai,  and  while  the  officers  were  sent  on  by 
motor-car  they  marched  a  long  distance  through  unknown 
country  to  the  front.  They  do  not  know  the  names  of  the 
villages  through  which  they  passed,  their  officers  had  no 
maps,  and  they  had  an  ominous  feeling  that  they  were  going 
to  their  doom.  But  the  strength  of  our  artillery,  and  its 
deadly  accuracy  of  aim,  surprised  them. 

They  did  not  know  the  English  had  such  gunners.  Still 
more  were  they  surprised  by  the  dash  of  our  infantry  when 
they  heard  that  they  had  against  them  "men  of  the  'New 
Army.'  "  "We  thought  they  were  Guards,"  said  these  Prus- 
sian prisoners,  who  belonged  chiefly  to  the  Lehr,  Grenadiers 
and  Fusiliers — all  Guards'  Divisions — the  70th  Jaeger  and 
the  iioth,  114th  and  190th  regiments  of  the  line.  Some 
of  them  I  spoke  to  were  Poles  from  Silesia — "ich  kann  nur 
ein  wenig  Deutsch  sprechen"  (I  can  only  speak  a  little  Ger- 
man), said  one  of  them.  Yet  they  were  tall,  hefty  men  of 
good  physique  and  well-fed.  Some  of  them  were  middle- 
aged  fellows,  and  fathers  of  families,  corresponding  to  the 


94  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

French  Territorials.  They  spoke  of  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, and  their  tired,  dazed  eyes  (for  they  were  just  down 
from  the  field  of  fire)  lighted  up  at  the  thought  of  going 
home  again  after  the  war. 

"God  send  a  quick  ending  to  the  war!"  said  one  of  them, 
and  he  spoke  the  words  as  a  prayer  with  his  hands  up- 
raised. 

I  sat  in  a  little  dug-out,  bomb-proof,  perhaps,  but  not 
sound-proof,  because  the  noise  of  guns  was  appallingly  close 
and  loud  while  some  of  the  men  were  being  brought  in  to  be 
examined  by  a  bright-eyed  officer,  who  spoke  their  dialects 
as  well  as  their  language,  and  had  an  easy  way  with  him 
so  that  they  were  not  frightened. 

They  answered  frankly,  in  a  manly  way,  and  were  grate- 
ful for  our  treatment  of  them.  A  queer  scene  inside  these 
walls  of  sandbags,  lighted  by  German  candles,  filled  with  all 
sorts  of  litter  from  German  pockets — great  clasp-knives, 
leaden  spoons,  cartridge  clips,  compasses,  watches,  pencils. 
One  of  the  investigating  officers  was  the  son  of  a  famous 
musician,  and  seemed  to  find  an  intense  interest  in  his  job, 
though  new  batches  of  prisoners  keep  arriving  through  day 
and  night,  so  that  his  meals  and  his  sleep  are  interrupted. 

But  with  his  brother  officers  he  is  accumulating  a  store 
of  mformation,  and  sees  all  the  drama  of  the  war,  and  all 
its  misery  for  the  enemy,  between  these  sand-bags,  and  in 
the  dim  candlelight  which  flickers  upon  the  worn  faces  of 
German  soldiers  taken  an  hour  before  up  there  where  the 
shells  are  falling. 


IX 

A  CAMEO  OF  WAR 


I 

July  9 
Slowly,  but  quite  steadily,  we  are  drawing  our  lines  closer 
about  the  enemy's  strong  places  along  the  whole  extent 
of  our  attacking  front  in  order  that  one  by  one  he  must 
abandon  them.  Last  night  our  troops  captured  new  trenches 
about  Ovillers-La  Boiselle,  so  that  the  pressure  upon  that 
place  is  tighter,  and  during  the  past  eighteen  hours  we  have 
established  ourselves  in  the  Bois  des  Trones,  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood to  the  east  of  Montauban. 

The  meaning  of  our  attacking  methods  and  of  the  hard 
fighting  at  different  points  may  not  be  clear  to  people  who  do 
not  realise  the  position  which  our  men  have  to  storm.  It  has 
often  been  said  that  the  enemy's  lines,  which  stretch  from 
the  sea  to  the  Vosges,  are  one  great  fortress,  and  this  is 
true,  but  it  is  more  essentially  and  even  technically  true  of 
the  line  through  which  we  broke  on  the  first  day  of  July. 

The  great  German  salient  which  curves  round  from  Gom- 
mecourt  to  Fricourt  is  like  a  chain  of  mediaeval  fortresses 
connected  by  earthworks  and  tunnels.  The  fortresses,  or 
strong  places  as  we  now  call  them,  are  the  ruined  villages — 
stronger  in  defence  than  any  old  tower  because  they  are 
filled  with  machine-guns,  trench-mortars,  and  other  deadly 
engines — of  Gommecourt,  Beaumont-Hamel,  Thiepval, 
Ovillers,  La  Boiselle  and  Fricourt. 

In  spite  of  the  superb  courage  of  those  British  battalions 
which  flung  themselves  against  those  strongholds  on  the 
left  side  of  the  German  salient  they  did  not  fall,  but  breaches 

95 


96  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

were  made  in  their  defences  which  are  now  being  widened 
and  deepened.  On  the  southern  side,  where  the  attack  suc- 
ceeded, La  Boiselle  and  Fricourt  and  further  eastwards 
Mametz  and  Montauban,  are  ours,  and  the  attack  is  pushing 
further  in  to  turn  the  strong  places  on  the  left  from  within 
the  fortress  walls,  as  it  were,  while  they  are  being  weakened 
by  assaults  from  without,  gradually  putting  the  strangle-grip 
upon  them.  If  we  have  luck  and  keep  striking  deeper  into 
the  salient,  as  we  have  done  during  the  past  twenty- four 
hours  at  Contalmaison  and  Ovillers,  it  would  seem  to  me  as 
if  the  strong  places  on  the  left  must  either  be  evacuated  by 
the  enemy  or  surrounded  and  taken,  with  their  imprisoned 
troops,  by  us. 

I  saw  the  scene  of  this  struggle  for  the  enemy's  strong- 
holds to-day  almost  as  if  I  were  looking  into  the  mirror  of 
the  Lady  of  Shalott.  It  seemed  like  that,  strangely  unreal, 
as  though  in  an  image — and  yet  terribly  real  and  vivid — be- 
cause I  came  upon  it  suddenly,  by  accident,  arranged  for  me 
by  a  gap  in  a  hedge  and  by  two  trees  on  each  side  of  the  gap, 
like  the  frame  of  a  picture. 

I  had  been  up  to  the  lines  in  search  of  an  officer  whose 
headquarters  is  in  dug-outs  below  the  crest  of  a  hill.  Be- 
yond this  crest  and  another  one  beyond  that  the  fires  of  hate 
were  burning  all  right.  I  could  tell  that  by  the  smoke 
clouds  which  came  black,  and  white,  and  green,  into  the 
fleecy  sky  of  this  July  day  in  France,  and  by  the  noise  of  the 
guns  all  about  me.  But  I  did  not  trouble  to  climb  to  the 
crest.  There  were  interesting  things  to  see  below  and  fine 
men  whom  I  wanted  to  meet  again  before  they  go  nearer 
to  those  fires. 

I  passed  two  friends  on  the  roadway  riding  in  the  centre 
of  a  long  column  of  troops,  and  when  I  waved  my  hands 
to  them  and  shouted  "Good  luck !"  they  turned  in  their  sad- 
dles and  waved  back  and  smiled  in  a  way  that  one  remembers 
through  a  lifetime.  I  did  not  trouble  to  climb  the  crest  be- 
cause there  were  some  captured  German  guns  below  it  worth 
seeing  as  the  first  fruits  of  victory. 


A  CAMEO  OF  WAR  97 

They  were  being  fastened  to  our  own  gun-carriages  and 
taken  off  to  the  place  where  such  trophies  go,  cheered  by 
French  townsfolk  on  the  way.  Queer,  beastly  things  were 
some  of  these  captured  engines.  There  were  long  wooden 
barrels  hooped  with  steel,  and  with  a  touch-hole  to  fire  the 
charge  for  a  ''plum-pudding"  bomb  large  enough  to  blow  up 
ten  yards  of  trench — as  primitive  as  the  engines  of  war  used 
in  the  fifteenth  century. 

It  was  on  the  way  back  that  I  came  upon  the  gap  in  the 
hedge.  I  passed  camps  of  men  and  horses,  masses  of  guns 
and  long  lines  of  dug-outs  in  chalk  banks,  where  soldiers 
sat  in  the  entries  on  this  Sunday  afternoon,  smoking-  their 
pipes  with  an  air  of  profound  peace  in  spite  of  the  noise  of 
shell-fire;  and  large  bodies  of  splendid  troops,  English  and 
Scottish,  tramping  up  the  roads,  all  powdered  with  white 
dust,  or  lying  under  the  shadows  of  wayside  trees,  sleeping 
on  their  backs  with  the  sun  full  on  their  bronzed,  sweat-be- 
grimed faces.  It  was  the  madding  crowd  of  war,  with  a 
tangle  of  traffic  on  the  roads,  and  kicking  mules  making 
•beasts  of  themselves  at  the  sight  of  a  motor-car,  and  artillery 
wagons  with  creaking  axles  plunging  through  it  all  under 
the  daring  guidance  of  red-faced  boys  with  short  whips. 

Turning  off  the  road,  away  from  all  this  turmoil,  and 
presently,  through  the  gap  in  the  hedge,  I  saw,  quite  unex- 
pectedly, the  scene  of  war  across  the  fields  in  front  of  me, 
all  gold  with  that  \/eed  which  is  ruining  so  many  harvest 
fields  of  France.  It  was  Mametz  Wood.  I  knew  at  once 
the  queer  shape  of  it  with  a  great  bite  out  of  its  western 
side.  In  spite  of  all  our  shell  fire  it  is  still  thick  with  foliage, 
upon  which  the  sunlight  lay,  casting  a  great  black  shadow 
underneath.  Just  below  it  was  Peak  Wood,  a  row  of  broken 
trees  by  a  sunken  road,  and  a  triangle  trench,  for  which  our 
men  fought  desperately,  so  that  it  changed  hands  three  times 
before  they  won  it  finally,  on  Friday  afternoon. 

To  the  left  of  Mametz  Wood  and  on  a  line  with  it  was 
Contalmaison,  and  on  the  left  of  that  Bailiff  Wood,  which 
we  captured  and  lost  again  the  day  before  yesterday,  and 


98  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

then  further  left  Ovillers-La  Boiselle,  and  completing  the 
crescent,  La  Boiselle  itself. 


Between  the  gap  in  the  hedge  I  saw  again  one  of  the 
world's  great  battlefields,  and  every  detail  of  it  was  so  clear- 
ly and  sharply  defined  in  the  sunlight  that  it  was  like  a  Pre- 
Raphaelite  picture  painted  in  vivid  colours.  I  could  count 
the  shell-holes  in  the  roofs  of  Contalmaison  village,  and 
the  chateau  there,  standing  to  the  right  of  a  little  wood, 
was  brought  so  closely  forward  by  a  stereoscopic  effect  that 
I  could  look  into  the  blackness  of  its  broken  windows. 

Down  below  me  were  our  trenches,  and  I  saw  our  men 
in  them.  Some  of  them  were  outside  the  trenches,  strolling 
about  in  the  open,  in  little  groups,  or  walking  about  on  a 
lone  track,  as  though  taking  a  quiet  half-hour  on  this  Sun- 
day afternoon. 

And  yet  they  were  in  the  centre  of  the  battlefield,  and 
over  their  heads  came  an  incessant  flight  of  shells,  our  shells 
which  I  could  see  falling  in  the  German  lines,  and  in  the 
fields  about  them  German  shells,  bursting  with  dull  crashes 
and  with  clouds  of  black  and  greenish  smoke.  All  the  power 
of  destruction  was  at  work,  but  because  of  the  utter  calm 
and  beauty  of  the  sky  and  the  golden  light  over  all  the  scene 
it  seemed  to  me,  standing  on  the  edge  of  it,  less  deadly,  like 
a  dream  of  war. 

It  was  no  dream.  Three  of  our  shells  followed  each  other 
in  a  group  and  burst  with  one  explosion  against  the  left- 
hand  tower  of  Contalmaison  chateau,  smashing  off  a  turret 
as  though  it  were  a  card-castle. 

Our  shells  were  flinging  up  fountains  of  black  earth  and 
smoke  in  the  German  lines  beyond — at  Posieres.  All  round 
the  battlefield  there  were  the  black  clouds  of  shell  fire  break- 
ing and  rising  and  spreading  over  Bailiff  Wood,  at  Ovillers, 
and  between  the  broken  tree  trunks  of  La  Boiselle.     Men 


A  CAMEO  OF  WAR  99 

were  being  killed  as  usual,  la-bas.  But  our  shells  were  doing 
most  of  the  damage. 

An  extraordinary  thing  happened  as  I  looked  across  the 
chateau  of  Contalmaison.  The  earth  seemed  suddenly  to 
open  in  the  enemy's  lines  and  let  forth  the  smoke  of  its 
inner  fires.  It  gushed  out  in  great  round,  dense  masses, 
and  rose  to  a  vast  height,  spreading  like  the  foliage  of  some 
gigantic  tree.    It  was  not  a  mine. 

The  explosion  from  a  mine  flings  up  a  black  mass  with 
jagged  edges  like  a  piece  of  black-cardboard  cut  into  teeth. 
But  this  was  a  regular  uprising  of  curly  black  clouds  of 
great  volume,  getting  denser,  and  coming  continuously.  I 
watched  it  for  twenty  minutes  or  more,  and  could  not  make 
out  its  meaning,  but  guessed  that  we  had  blown  up  an  am- 
munition store. 

Two  great  explosions  which  came  quite  a  few  seconds 
after  the  first  vomit  of  smoke  suggested  this.  So  I  went 
away  from  the  picture  through  the  gap  in  the  trees.  Down 
in  the  valley  where  I  passed  the  enemy's  shells  were  coming 
rather  near.  A  heavy  crump  burst  on  a  knoll  close  by,  and 
some  officers  and  men  were  watching  with  that  curious  smile 
men  have  at  times  when  they  know  their  lives  depend  upon 
a.  freak  of  chance.    It  is  an  ironical  smile,  and  rather  grim. 


X 

THE  ASSAULT  ON  CONTALMAISON 


I 

July  9 
I  HAD  an  idea  that  there  would  be  "something  doing"  to-day 
at  Contalmaison,  and  I  went  over  the  fields  towards  it,  past 
some  of  our  batteries,  past  columns  of  troops  marching  with 
their  bands  along  the  roads  which  powder  them  with  white 
blinding  dust,  past  great  camps  and  ammunition  columns, 
and  litters  of  empty  shell  cases  remaining  over  from  the 
great  bombardment,  and  past  bodies  of  soldiers  stretched 
out  upon  the  grass  and  sleeping  in  the  warm  sunlight  close 
behind  the  fighting  lines,  until  I  came  to  a  little  crest  looking 
down  to  Contalmaison  village,  and  the  woods  about  it. 

Mametz  Wood  was  very  quiet  this  afternoon.  As  neither 
side  could  see  exactly  the  position  of  its  troops  underneath 
the  heavy  foliage — our  men,  who  were  fighting  last  night, 
hold  a  line  about  halfway  through — the  gunners  were  chary 
of  shelling  it  severely.  Now  and  again  a  burst  of  shrapnel 
smoke  puffed  against  the  dark  background  of  the  trees,  and 
the  shell  slashed  through  the  branches,  but  that  was  not 
often,  and  the  wood  seemed  very  peaceful.  Looking  at  it 
one's  imagination  found  it  difficult  to  realise  that  perhaps 
there  were  men  there  who  had  dug  themselves  into  the 
earth  beneath  the  spreading  roots,  and  that  British  and 
German  patrols  were  feeling  their  way,  perhaps,  from  one 
tree  to  another,  through  the  glades,  until  they  came  into 
touch  and  exchanged  some  rifle  shots  before  falling  back 
to  their  own  line.    I  could  only  guess  at  that,  and  could  see 

100 


THE  ASSAULT  ON  CONTALMAISON         101 

nothing  but  the  tight  fohage,  yellow  in  the  sun  and  black 
in  the  shadows. 

There  were  plenty  of  shells  falling  elsewhere,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  enemy  had  brought  up  new  batteries 
to  strengthen  his  defence.  His  shell-fire  was  certainly  more 
intense,  and  wider-spreading,  than  during  the  past  few  days 
round  here.  He  was  bombarding  our  positions  from  La 
Boiselle  to  Montauban  very  fiercely.  The  poor  broken  wood 
of  La  Boiselle,  which  our  men  captured  after  desperate 
fighting,  was  being  searched  by  his  black  shrapnel,  and  every 
now  and  then  by  one  of  his  "universals,"  which  broke  with 
a  vivid  cloud  of  greenish  fumes,  very  prolonged  in  density, 
and  forming  fantastic  shapes  as  it  dissolved.  One  such 
cloud,  metallic  in  the  brilliance  of  its  green,  was  like  a 
winged  woman  with  a  Medusa  face. 

High  explosives  were  falling  into  Montauban  village,  rais- 
ing volumes  of  rose-coloured  clouds,  beautiful  in  the  sun- 
light. I  think  it  must  have  been  the  dust  of  red  bricks  flung 
up  from  ruined  houses. 


At  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  the  enemy  put  a  very 
heavy  barrage  in  a  straight  line  below  Contalmaison.  One 
by  one  the  shells  burst,  and  so  quickly  down  the  line  and 
back  again  that  they  formed  a  wall  of  black  smoke  with  only 
a  few  gaps. 

"It  is  so  nice  to  get  a  little  fresh  air!"  said  a  young 
gunner  officer  who  was  next  to  me,  reporting  for  his  bat- 
tery, which  speaks  from  afar  with  a  very  gruff  voice.  "Dur- 
ing the  first  few  days  of  the  'show'  I  lived  indoors" — he 
pointed  to  the  dark  entry  of  a  dug-out — "but  now  I'm  get- 
ting sunburnt  again.  The  men  enjoy  this  open  fighting. 
Look  at  'em !" 

There  were  men  moving  about  the  battlefield  utterly  re- 
gardless of  the  trenches — the  old  German  trenches,  marked 
by  billows  of  brown  earth  (brown  because  of  our  gun-fire 


102  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

which  ploughed  it  up),  and  more  regular  lines  of  white 
earth-works,  which  were  our  own  parapets  before  the  ad- 
vance. A  long  column  of  them  was  winding  very  slowly- 
round  towards  Contalmaison. 

"Looks  as  if  they  were  going  up  to  support  an  attack," 
said  an  officer  close  to  me. 

Other  groups  of  khaki-coloured  men  were  moving  over 
the  ground  which  one  sees  southward  from  the  tall  chimney 
of  Pozieres  village  which  we  were  bombarding  heavily. 

I  thought  back  to  the  Ypres  salient  for  a  moment.  Men 
do  not  move  about  so  freely  there !  Or  between  Loos  and 
Hulluch,  where  over  the  wide  barren  stretch  of  desolation  no 
human  being  is  ever  seen,  or,  if  seen,  killed.  But — "it  is 
nice  to  get  a  little  fresh  air"  after  the  imprisonment  in 
the  trenches,  and  this  open  warfare  is  enormously  better. 
It  is  better  even  to  die  in  the  open,  with  the  wind  upon  one's 
face,  standing  among  the  poppies,  underneath  the  blue  sky, 
which  to-day  was  glorious  with  white  snow-mountains  piled 
high  with  dazzling  peaks  in  its  sea  of  blue  and  sunlight. 

And  so  our  men  are  touched  with  a  kind  of  spiritual  joy 
to  be  fighting  above  ground  again  instead  of  crouching  in 
ditches — though  personally  I  like  a  handy  hole  at  times. 

In  the  very  centre  of  the  battlefield  for  which  some  of  our 
men  fought  and  died  a  day  or  two  ago,  one  tall  fellow 
was  signalling  to  somebody  about  something.  Now  and 
then  a  German  shell  fell  dangerously  close  to  his  position 
sending  up  a  fountain  of  earth  and  smoke,  but  he  kept  talk- 
ing: with  his  dot-and-dash  to  a  far  and  invisible  friend.  It 
seemed  an  interesting  monologue,  as  though  he  had  im- 
portant things  to  tell.  It  seemed  to  be  addressed  to  the 
ruins  of  Contalmaison.  There  were  moments  when  its  old 
French  chateau,  set  in  a  little  wood,  was  lit  up  by  a  splash 
of  golden  light  as  the  white  clouds  drifted  by,  so  that  I 
could  almost  count  its  bricks,  and  could  see  how  the  shells 
which  I  watched  yesterday  had  opened  its  roofs.  But  the 
left  hand  tower  was  knocked  of¥  this  morning  by  a  direct 
hit  from  that  same  battery  whose  fire  was  being  observed 


THE  ASSAULT  ON  CONTALMAISON         103 

by  the  young  gunner  officer  with  whom  I  sat  to-day.  It  is 
a  wonder  the  shell  did  not  smash  the  whole  chateau  to  a 
pitiful  ruin,  but  it  took  the  tower  en  passant  as  chess  players 
say. 

At  four  o'clock  our  guns  concentrated  upon  Contalmaison, 
Acid  Drop  Copse — the  poor  little  straggly  wood  to  the 
right  of  Mametz — and  the  German  trenches  defending  the 
Contalmaison  ridge.  Smoke  belched  over  the  battlefield, 
and  the  song  of  the  shells  was  loud  and  high.  It  was  under 
those  shells  falling  beyond  them  and  through  the  smoke 
that  a  body  of  our  men  moved  forward  to  the  assault  upon 
the  village. 

3 

July   io 

The  village  of  Contalmaison  is  ours  again.  Whether  we 
ever  held  it  before,  by  more  than  handfuls  of  men,  who  went 
in  and  went  out,  is  doubtful.  Certainly  some  men  succeeded 
in  getting  there  from  Caterpillar  Wood  and  Acid  Drop 
Copse,  because  I  met  them  afterwards  with  wounds  in  their 
bodies,  but  it  is  difficult  to  know  what  happened. 

One  can  only  guess  that  Germans  came  up  from  their 
dug-outs  after  our  men  had  penetrated  the  outskirts  and 
made  use  of  the  darkness  with  their  machine-guns  and 
bombs. 

What  happened  last  night  is  clear  enough.  I  have  already 
described  in  a  previous  dispatch  how  we  concentrated  our 
fire  upon  the  positions  in  front  of  the  village  and  then 
shelled  the  village  itself  with  terrific  intensity. 

I  saw  the  beginning  of  this  bombardment,  and  watched 
our  men  going  up  to  support  the  attack  which  was  to 
follow.  It  was  begun  when  fresh  troops  who  had  been 
brought  up  to  help  the  tired  men  who  had  been  fighting  in 
this  part  of  the  line  under  heavy  shell-fire  for  several  days 
advanced  under  the  cover  of  our  guns  to  the  left  and  right 
of  the  village. 

It  was  already  hemmed  in  on  both  sides,  for  other  British 


104  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

troops  were  in  firm  possession  of  Bailiff  Wood  to  the  left, 
and  during  the  evening,  by  a  series  of  bombing  attacks, 
Mametz  Wood  to  the  right  had  been  almost  cleared  of 
Germans,  who  are  now  only  in  the  outer  fringe  of  it. 

The  enemy  in  Contalmaison  knew  that  their  position  was 
hopeless.  When  our  guns  lifted  they  heard  the  cheers  of 
our  infantry  on  both  sides  of  the  village,  and  many  of  them 
— at  least  many  of  those  who  were  still  alive  and  unwounded 
— streamed  out  of  the  village  in  disorderly  retreat,  only  to 
be  caught  behind  by  our  extended  barrages  between  Contal- 
maison, Pozieres  and  Bazentin-le-Petit,  so  that  their  rout 
became  a  shambles. 

Our  men  were  quickly  into  the  village,  and  having  learnt 
a  lesson  by  the  experience  of  other  troops  at  other  places 
made  a  thorough  search  of  machine-gun  emplacements  and 
dug-outs,  so  that  there  should  be  no  further  trouble  with 
this  wasps'  nest. 


The  men  left  in  Contalmaison  were  in  a  dreadful  state, 
having  suffered  to  the  very  limit  of  human  endurance,  and 
beyond.  They  were  surprised  to  find  themselves  living 
enough  to  be  taken  prisoners. 

One  of  these  men  with  whom  I  talked  this  morning  told 
me  a  tragic  tale.  He  spoke  a  little  English,  having  been  a 
cabinet-maker  in  the  Tottenham  Court  Road  some  years 
ago  before  he  went  back  to  Wiirttemberg,  where,  when  the 
war  began,  he  was,  as  he  said,  taken  and  put  in  a  uniform 
and  told  to  fight,  though  it  was  not  his  trade,  poor  devil. 

With  other  men  of  the  122nd  (Bavarian)  Regiment  he 
went  into  Contalmaison  five  days  ago.  Soon  the  rations  they 
had  brought  with  them  were  finished,  and  owing  to  our 
ceaseless  gun-fire  it  was  impossible  to  get  fresh  supplies. 
They  suffered  great  agonies  of  thirst,  and  the  numbers  of 
their  dead  and  wounded  increased  steadily. 

"There  was  a  hole  in  the  ground,"  said  this  German  cabi- 


THE  ASSAULT  ON  CONTALMAISON         105 

net-maker,  whose  head  was  bound  with  a  bloody  bandage 
and  who  was  dazed  and  troubled  when  I  talked  with  him. 
"It  was  a  dark  hole  which  held  twenty  men,  all  lying  in  a 
heap  together,  and  that  was  the  only  dug-out  for  my  com- 
pany, so  that  there  was  not  room  for  more  than  a  few. 

"It  was  necessary  to  take  turns  in  this  shelter,  while  out- 
side the  English  shells  were  coming  and  bursting  every- 
where. Two  or  three  men  were  dragged  out  to  make  room 
for  two  or  three  others. 

"Then  those  who  went  outside  were  killed  or  wounded. 
Some  of  them  had  their  heads  blown  off,  and  some  of  them 
had  both  legs  torn  off,  and  some  of  them  their  arms. 

"But  we  went  on  taking  turns  in  the  hole,  although  those 
who  went  outside  knew  that  it  was  their  turn  to  die,  very 
likely.  At  last  most  of  those  who  came  into  the  hole  were 
wounded,  some  of  them  badly,  so  that  we  lay  in  blood. 

"There  was  only  one  doctor  there,  an  'unteroffizier'  " — he 
pointed  to  a  man  who  lay  asleep  on  the  ground,  face  down- 
wards— "and  he  bandaged  some  of  us  till  he  had  no  more 
bandages. 

"Then,  last  night,  we  knew  the  end  was  coming.  Your 
guns  began  to  fire  all  together — the  dreadful  'trommel- 
feuer,'  as  we  call  it — and  the  shells  burst  and  smashed  up 
the  earth  about  us. 

"We  stayed  down  in  the  hole  waiting  for  the  end.  Then 
we  heard  your  soldiers  shouting.  Presently  two  of  them 
came  down  into  our  hole.  They  were  two  boys  and  they 
had  their  pockets  full  of  bombs. 

"They  had  bombs  in  their  hands  also,  and  they  seemed 
to  wonder  whether  they  would  kill  us.  But  we  were  all 
wounded,  nearly  all_,  and  we  cried  'Kameraden!'  .  .  .  And 
now  we  are  prisoners — and  I  am  thirsty." 

Other  prisoners  told  me  that  the  effect  of  our  fire  was 
terrible  in  Contalmaison,  and  that  at  least  half  of  their 
men  holding  it  were  killed  or  wounded,  so  that  when  our 
soldiers  entered  last  night  they  walked  over  the  bodies  of 
the  dead. 


106  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

These  men  who  had  escaped  were  in  a  pitiful  condition. 
They  lay  on  the  ground  utterly  exhausted  most  of  them, 
and — that  was  strange — with  their  faces  to  the  earth.  Per- 
haps it  was  to  blot  out  the  vision  of  things  seen. 

I  shall  remember  the  cabinet-maker  of  the  Tottenham 
Court  Road.  In  spite  of  the  clay  which  caked  his  face 
and  clothes  and  the  bloody  rag  round  his  head  he  was  a 
handsome  bearded  fellow  with  blue  eyes  which  once  or 
twice  lighted  up  with  a  tragic  smile,  as  when  I  asked  him 
when  he  thought  the  war  would  end. 

"In  191 5,"  he  said,  "when  I  was  wounded  at  Ypres,  I 
thought  the  war  would  end  in  a  few  months.  And  a  little 
while  ago  I  thought  so  again!" 

Then  he  muttered  something  to  himself,  but  loudly 
enough  for  me  to  hear  the  words — "Surely  we  cannot  go  on 
much  longer?" 

I  left  these  men,  and  further  down  the  road  saw  many 
more  prisoners.  There  were  nearly  three  hundred  of  them 
marching  down  a  side  track,  between  some  ripening  corn, 
under  mounted  escort,  their  grey-blue  uniforms  hardly 
visible  until  I  was  closer  to  them  against  the  background  of 
the  wheat. 

Most  of  them  were  young,  healthy-looking  men,  who 
walked  briskly,  and  it  was  only  a  few  behind  who  limped 
as  they  walked,  and  looked  broken  and  beaten  men. 


It  was  a  good  day  for  us  in  prisoners,  for  about  500  have 
come  down  from  Contalmaison,  Mametz  Wood  and  the 
Trones  Wood  as  living  proofs  of  our  advance  in  all  those 
places. 

All  the  prisoners  speak  of  the  terror  of  our  artillery  fire, 
and  documents  captured  in  their  dug-outs  tell  the  same  tale 
in  words  which  reveal  the  full  horror  of  bombardment. 

"We  are  quite  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  wt)rld," 


THE  ASSAULT  ON  CONTALMAISON         lOTT 

wrote  a  German  soldier  on  the  day  before  our  great  attack. 
"Nothing  comes  to  us ;  no  letters.  The  English  keep  such 
a  barrage  on  our  approaches,  it  is  terrible.  To-morrow 
morning  it  will  be  seven  days  since  this  bombardment  be- 
gan ;  we  cannot  hold  out  much  longer.  Everything  is  shot 
to  pieces." 

"Our  thirst  is  terrible,"  wrote  another  man.  "We  hunt 
for  water,  and  drink  it  out  of  shell-holes." 

Many  of  the  men  speak  of  the  torture  of  thirst  which 
they  suffered  during  our  bombardment. 

"Every  one  of  us  in  these  five  days  has  become  years 
older.  We  hardly  know  ourselves.  Bechtel  said  that,  in 
these  five  days,  he  lost  lo  lbs.  Hunger  and  thirst  have  also 
contributed  their  share  to  that.  Hunger  would  be  easily 
borne,  but  the  thirst  makes  one  almost  mad. 

"Luckily  it  rained  yesterday,  and  the  water  in  the  shell- 
holes,  mixed  with  the  yellow  shell  sulphur,  tasted  as  good, 
as  a  bottle  of  beer.  To-day  we  got  something  to  eat.  It 
was  impossible  before  to  bring  food  up  into  the  front  line 
under  the  violent  curtain  fire  of  the  enemy." 

One  other  out  of  hundreds  tells  all  in  a  few  words  : 

"We  came  into  the  front  line  ten  days  ago.  During  those 
ten  days  I  have  suffered  more  than  any  time  during  the  last 
two  years.  The  dug-outs  are  damaged  in  places,  and  the 
trenches  are  completely  destroyed." 

We  do  not  gloat  over  the  sufferings  of  our  enemy,  though 
we  must  make  them  suffer,  and  go  on  suffering,  that  they 
may  yield.  It  is  the  curse  of  war,  the  black  horror  which 
not  even  the  heights  of  human  courage  may  redeem,  nor  all 
the  splendour  of  youth  eager  for  self-sacrifice. 

I  have  seen  things  to-day  before  which  one's  soul  swoons, 
and  which,  God  willing,  my  pen  shall  write,  so  that  men 
shall  remember  the  meaning  of  war. 

But  now,  when  these  things  are  inevitable,  we  must  look 
only  to  our  progress  towards  the  end,  and  to-day  we  have 
made  good  progress. 

Yesterday  I  wrote  of  the  position  we  attacked  on  July 


108  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

I  as  a  great  German  fortress  with  a  chain  of  strongholds 
linked  by  underground  works. 

In  ten  days,  by  the  wonderful  gallantry  of  our  men  and 
the  great  power  of  our  guns  we  have  smashed  several  of 
those  forts — as  strong  as  any  on  the  Western  front,  and 
defended  stubbornly  by  masses  of  guns  and  troops — and 
have  stormed  our  way  in  so  deeply  that  the  enemy  is  now 
forced  to  fall  back  upon  his  next  line  of  defence. 

The  cost  has  been  great,  but  the  enemy's  losses  and  the 
present  position  in  which  he  finds  himself  prove  the  success 
of  our  main  attack. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  the  initia- 
tive has  passed  to  us,  and  the  German  Headquarters  Staff  is 
hard  pushed  for  reserves. 


XI 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WOODS 


I 

July  12 
For  several  days  now  I  have  been  giving  a  chronicle  of  hard 
fighting  at  several  important  points  on  the  way  to  the  second 
German  line,  with  such  scenes  as  one  eye-witness  may  de- 
scribe in  a  great  battle  in  which  many  different  bodies  of 
troops  are  engaged  upon  a  wide  front. 

The  fortunes  of  war  have  varied  from  day  to  day,  almost 
from  hour  to  hour,  so  that  positions  taken  one  evening  have 
been  lost  in  the  morning  and  again  captured  by  the  after- 
noon. Writing  as  events  are  happening,  one's  narrative 
becomes  as  confused  as  the  confusion  of  the  battlefield  itself, 
where  troops  know  nothing,  or  very  little,  of  what  is  doing 
to  their  right  and  left,  until  some  general  scheme  of  opera- 
tions is  completed. 

By  the  capture  of  Contalmaison  and  ground  to  each  side 
of  it  a  general  scheme  of  progress  has  been  achieved,  and, 
although  fighting  does  not  cease  about  these  points,  it  is  now 
possible  to  give  a  clearer  idea  of  the  battle  as  it  has  de- 
veloped up  to  the  present  moment. 

I  think  it  may  very  well  be  called  the  Battle  of  the 
Woods,  for  the  chief  characteristic  of  it  has  been  the  de- 
termined effort  of  our  troops  to  take  and  hold  a  number  of 
copses  and  small  forests  between  the  first  and  second  Ger- 
man lines. 

On  the  left  of  Contalmaison  is  Bailiff  Wood,  north-east- 
wards of  the  Horseshoe  Redoubt.  If  we  could  get  that  and 
keep  it  Contalmaison  itself  could  be  enfiladed  and  attacked 

109 


110  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

from  the  west  as  well  as  from  the  south.  Away  to  the  right 
of  Contalmaison  is  Mametz  Wood,  even  more  important, 
both  in  size  and  position  with  Bernafay  Wood  still  further 
eastwards  and  Trones  Wood  on  the  right  again.  Other 
small  woods  or  copses  to  the  south  of  Contalmaison  were 
strong  fighting  points,  from  Shelter  Wood  to  Round  Wood 
and  Birch  Wood  at  the  top  of  the  Sunken  Road  and  Peak 
Wood  to  the  left  of  the  Quadrangle  Trench. 

Some  of  these  places  are  but  a  few  shell-slashed  trees 
serving  as  landmarks,  but  Bailiff  Wood,  Mametz  Wood, 
Bernafay  Wood,  and  Trones  Wood  are  still  dense  thickets 
under  heavy  foliage  hiding  the  enemy's  troops  and  our  own, 
but  giving  no  protection  from  shell-fire. 

It  is  for  these  woodlands  on  high  ground  that  our  men 
have  been  fighting  with  the  greatest  gallantry  and  most 
stubborn  endurance,  suffering  more  than  light  losses,  meet- 
ing heavy  counter-attacks,  gaining  ground,  losing  it,  retak- 
ing it,  and  thrusting  forward  again,  with  a  really  uncon- 
querable spirit,  because  they  know  that  these  woods  are  the 
way  to  the  second  bastion  of  the  German  stronghold. 

It  would  be  good  to  say  something  about  the  different 
battalions  who  have  been  fighting  the  Battle  of  the  Woods, 
and  it  is  hard  not  to  give  some  honour  to  them  now,  by 
name.  But  there  are  reasons  against  it — the  enemy  wants 
to  know  their  names  for  other  reasons — and  we  must  wait 
until  some  weeks  have  passed.  They  are  men  from  nearly 
all  our  English  counties — from  Northumberland,  Durham, 
Lancashire,  and  Yorkshire,  from  the  Midlands,  the  Home 
Counties,  and  the  "West  Countrie."  Welshmen  were  there, 
and  Irish,  and  Highlanders  and  Lowlanders.  It  was  a 
British  battle,  but  the  greater  share  of  it  fell  to  England 
alone,  and  it  was  English  lads  from  the  North,  and  English 
lads  from  old  county  towns  like  Worcester  and  Northamp- 
ton, York  and  Bedford,  Guildford  and  Arundel,  Norwich, 
and  old  London  Town  itself,  who  fought  on  the  way  to 
Contalmaison  and  took  this  stronghold  of  the  woodlands. 

I  passed  some  of  them  on  the  roads  to-day.    They  were 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WOODS  111 

the  men  who  captured  Contalmaison  the  day  before  yester- 
day, and  they  were  marching  with  such  a  steady  swing  that 
it  was  hard  to  think  they  had  been  through  such  fighting 
and  fatigues,  and  that  they  had  left  behind  them  many  good 
fellows  who  will  never  come  back  along  the  road. 

They  were  bringing  back  trophies  of  victory.  On  their 
wagons,  beside  their  own  steel  hats,  were  German  helmets. 
Some  of  the  enemy's  machine-guns  were  passing  back  with 
them,  and  although  the  men  were  tired,  they  held  their 
heads  high  and  there  was  a  fine  pride  in  their  eyes.  An 
officer  who  watched  them  pass  called  out  the  names  of  their 
regiments  and  said,  "Well  done!"  and  one  of  their  own 
officers  waved  his  hand  and  called  back,  "Cheery-0!"  It 
was  the  greeting  of  gallant  fighting  men. 


But  before  the  taking  of  Contalmaison  the  day  before 
yesterday  there  were  other  men  who  had  done  their  best  to 
take  it,  and  did  take  it  for  a  while,  in  spite  of  bad  luck  and 
every  kind  of  hardship. 

Their  attack  depended  a  good  deal  upon  the  progress 
made  by  other  troops  who  were  fighting  for  Bailiff  Wood 
on  the  left,  and  by  troops  who  were  attacking  up  to  the 
line  of  Pearl  Alley  on  the  right. 

Neither  of  these  attempts  was  successful  at  the  time,  and 
the  men  who  had  been  ordered  to  take  Contalmaison  were 
not  in  a  happy  position.  The  weather  had  been  foul,  and  it 
was  this  which  on  July  7  and  8  made  all  attacks  difficult. 
When  the  troops  of  the  attacking  columns  tried  to  get  for- 
ward the  ground  was  bogged,  their  rifles  and  bombs  and 
machine-guns  were  covered  with  muddy  slime,  and  they 
stumbled  through  water-logged  trenches.  Apart  from  this 
the  way  was  perilous  and  tragic. 

The  main  trench  leading  up  to  Contalmaison  was  the 
Sunken  Road  which  goes  up  between  Round  Wood  and 


112  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

Birch  Wood,  and  this  was  being  heavily  barraged  by  the 
enemy's  guns  sweeping  down  the  valley  from  Pozieres. 

Further  up  and  slanting  right  to  Pearl  Alley  was  a  shal- 
low trench. 

Dead  bodies  lay  there  in  the  mud,  and  soon  it  was  choked 
with  wounded  men.  How  could  any  one  pass?  How  was 
it  possible  to  bring  up  bombs  and  ammunition  and  machine 
guns  and  all  the  stores  which  must  follow  an  attack  ?  That 
was  not  done,  but  our  men,  fellows  who  know  the  chimes 
of  Worcester  Cathedral,  struggled  forward  over  open 
ground  and  made  a  dash  for  Contalmaison,  enfiladed  by  ma- 
chine-gun fire  from  Bailiff  Wood  and  Mametz  Wood,  which 
were  not  yet  in  our  hands.  Round  the  western  side  of  Con- 
talmaison was  a  shallow  trench  in  which  the  enemy  also 
kept  his  machine-guns,  but  when  the  remnants  of  the  attack- 
ing force  rushed  forward  these  were  withdrawn  into  the 
village,  from  which  the  German  gunners  swept  the  ground. 

It  seems  to  me  quite  an  astonishing  feat  of  arms  that  our 
men,  in  such  small  numbers  and  in  such  adverse  conditions, 
should  have  penetrated  a  good  way  into  the  village.  And 
it  is  wonderfully  to  their  credit  that  they  should  have  taken 
eighty  prisoners  at  such  a  time. 

They  found  themselves  "up  in  the  air,"  as  soldiers  say, 
and  they  were  being  badly  hurt  by  machine-gun  fire.  It  was 
a  bad  position,  and  after  rummaging  through  some  German 
dug-outs  and  taking  their  prisoners  they  fell  back  to  a  strong 
point  to  the  south  of  the  village,  which  they  held  for  two 
or  three  days,  establishing  a  machine-gun  post  which  did 
valuable  service  in  the  next  attack. 

They  did  not  succeed  in  holding  Contalmaison,  and  in 
war,  which  is  a  hard  thing,  it  is  only  success  that  counts. 
But  I  see  nothing  to  blame  in  the  adventure  of  those  com- 
panies who  got  through  at  great  hazard.  Luck  was  against 
them,  and  against  their  other  battalions.  Luck,  and  the 
weather. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WOODS  113 


In  the  meantime  great  fighting  was  in  progress  for  the 
woods  around.  A  very  splendid  body  of  men,  among  them 
true  descendants  of  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  other  brave  men 
across  the  Marches,  had  fought  their  way  up  on  July  5  to 
Birch  Tree  Copse  and  Shelter  Alley,  to  Quadrangle  Trench 
on  the  6th,  then  to  Caterpillar  Wood  and  Marlborough 
Wood,  and  they  had  placed,  with  a  cunning  that  belongs 
to  the  genius  of  war,  a  machine-gun  which  covered  an  exit 
from  Mametz  Wood,  where  the  enemy  was  still  in  force. 

At  3  o'clock  on  Monday  afternoon  last  our  troops  ad- 
vanced to  the  capture  of  the  wood — a  wood  whose  bloom 
was  brightened  by  the  frightful  flash  of  shells,  whose  tree 
trunks  were  broken  and  splintered  and  slashed  by  sharp 
axes  hurtling  through  the  leaves,  and  about  whose  gnarled 
roots,  in  shell-holes  and  burrows,  German  soldiers  crouched 
with  their  bombs  and  machine-guns.  A  wood  of  terror. 
Yet  not  dismaying  to  those  men  of  ours  who  went  into  its 
twilight.  Our  own  guns  were  shelling  it  with  a  progressive 
barrage. 

Our  men  were  to  pass  forward  in  short,  sharp  rushes  be- 
hind the  barrage,  but  some  of  them  in  their  eagerness  went 
too  fast,  and  too  far,  and  went  through  the  very  barrage 
itself  until  a  signal  warned  a  gunner  officer  sitting  in  an 
O.P.  behind,  so  that  he  suddenly  seized  a  telephone  and 
whispered  some  words  into  it,  and  made  the  guns  "lift" 
again. 

Waves  of  bullets  were  streaming  like  water  through  the 
trees  from  German  machine-guns.  Many  of  our  men  fell, 
and  the  others,  checked  awhile,  lay  down  in  any  holes  they 
could  find  or  dig.  All  through  the  night  shells  broke  over 
them,  and  through  the  glades  there  came  always  that  hor- 
rible chatter  of  machine-guns. 

It  was  a  night  to  which  men  think  back  through  a  life-time 
with  a  wonderment  that  it  brought  any  dawn  for  them. 


11 4  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

But  when  dawn  came  their  spirit  was  unbroken  and  they 
made  a  new  attack,  and  went  forward  with  bombs  and  bay- 
onets to  the  encounter  of  other  men  not  less  brave.  Not  less 
brave,  in  truth  and  in  fairness  to  them.  There  was  a  fierce 
fight  before  the  last  of  them  surrendered,  so  that  Mametz 
Wood  was  ours,  for  a  while,  at  least. 


Meanwhile  to  the  left  of  Contalmaison — our  left — other 
men  had  worked  their  way  up  into  Bailiff  Wood  and  had 
established  posts  there.  It  was  still  impossible  to  attack 
Contalmaison  from  the  south,  and,  as  it  happened,  perhaps 
a  lucky  thing  because  the  enemy  had  expected  an  attack 
from  the  south  and  had  most  of  his  machine-guns  facing 
that  way  when  our  troops  advanced  upon  him  from  the 
west. 

They  advanced  after  a  series  of  artillery  barrages  from  a 
great  number  of  batteries  working  in  most  perfect  harmony 
with  the  plan  of  the  infantry  attack. 

At  4.50  the  infantry  went  forward  to  their  first  stage  in 
four  waves  and  in  extended  order.  They  had  to  cover 
about  1,100  yards  of  open  ground,  and  they  travelled  light, 
without  their  packs,  fighting  troops,  searching  parties  for 
house-fighting,  and  consolidating  troops. 

"They  went  across  magnificently,"  said  their  General,  and 
in  spite  of  the  enemy's  shells  and  machine-guns  penetrated 
the  town.  They  worked  across  in  time  to  the  successive 
barrage  which  preceded  them,  and  at  7  o'clock  they  had  the 
whole  of  Contalmaison.  The  enemy  defended  himself 
bravely,  and  there  was  some  fierce  hand-to-hand  fighting,  in 
which  200  Germans  were  killed,  refusing  to  surrender. 
Many  prisoners  were  taken  in  the  dug-outs. 

So  at  last  the  stronghold  of  the  Woods  was  ours,  and 
there  is  good  hope  that  we  shall  keep  it. 

One  other  wood  in  this  stretch  of  woodlands  is  still  not 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WOODS  116 

ours.  It  is  the  Wood  of  Trones,  where  also  there  has  been 
desperate  fighting  by  the  men  who  captured  Bernafay  Wood 
and  Caterpillar  Wood  and  the  ground  about  Montauban, 
shelled  and  shelled  again  by  the  enemy,  who  hates  to  have 
us  there. 

We  have  taken  it  several  times,  but  the  evening's  shell 
fire  forced  us  from  part  of  it.  When  they  come,  our  shell- 
fire  slashes  them  to  death.  So  much  of  it  is  No  Man's  Land, 
and  a  devilish  place. 

But  we  hold  a  great  stretch  of  ground  after  the  Battle 
of  the  Woods. 


XII 

THE  FIGHT  FOR  OVILLERS 


I 

July  13 
At  Ovillers   there  has  been  fierce  fighting  to-day  which 
has  gained   for  us   several  important  bits  of   trench  and 
ground,  linking  up  with  other  separate  points  already  won, 
so  that  this  German  stronghold  is  closely  besieged. 

The  enemy  to-day  was  bombarding  our  positions  round 
Contalmaison  and  Mametz  Wood  with  a  most  formidable 
barrage,  and  as  I  watched  this  from  a  vantage  point  look- 
ing across  a  wide  stretch  of  the  battlefields  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Germans  might  be  preparing  a  strong  counter- 
attack along  that  line. 

Nearer  to  Thiepval  it  was  strangely  quiet  after  the  great 
fighting  a  week  and  more  ago. 

The  village  of  Thiepval  itself  was  deadly  quiet  in  the 
German  lines  of  brown,  bombarded  earth,  beyond  our  whiter 
trenches.  What  was  once  a  wood  there,  about  red-roofed 
barns  and  houses  and  an  old  church  tower,  is  now  only  a 
number  of  charred  stumps  sticking  up  from  the  brick  dust 
and  ruin  of  these  buildings. 

Behind  Thiepval,  captured  and  lost  by  our  soldiers  after 
heroic  fighting  and  great  sacrifice  on  July  i,  could  be  seen 
the  places  which  the  enemy  is  holding  in  his  second  line  of 
defence,  the  next  line  of  village  fortresses. 

They  were  marked  by  the  tall  chimney  of  Courcelette,  the 
woods  of  Grandcourt,  and  the  church  spire  of  Tries.  And 
there,  standing  high  and  clear  above  the  ridge,  was  one  land- 
mark which  has  been  famous  before  in  the  war  and  will  be 

116 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  OVILLERS  lit 

again  before  the  war  is  ended.  It  was  the  clock-tower  of 
Bapaume,  and  if  the  sun  had  been  shining  on  it  we  could 
have  read  the  time  of  day. 

On  the  ridge  above  Thiepval  were  little  moving  figures. 

"Germans,"  said  a  sergeant  with  one  eye  to  his  glass. 

There  was  a  lot  of  them,  crawling  about  like  ants,  but 
none  of  our  shells  fell  among  them.  All  guns  were  busy 
on  other  work  further  to  the  right,  where  the  smoke  of 
great  shells  rose  like  smouldering  fires  over  all  the  ground 
from  Ovillers  to  Montauban. 


The  fighting  for  Ovillers  has  been  hard,  bloody,  and 
close.  Many  of  our  men  have  died  to  gain  a  yard  or  two 
of  earth-work.  There  have  been  great  adventures  in  the 
capturing  of  some  bits  of  broken  brick  or  the  working  round 
a  ditch  below  the  remnants  of  a  wall. 

Under  a  steady  drive  of  machine-gun  bullets  sweeping  all 
the  ground,  men  of  ours  from  Cheshire  and  another  Eng- 
lish county  in  the  north  have  crept  forward  at  night  with  a 
few  hand-grenades  and  flung  themselves  against  the  enemy's 
bombing-posts  and  barricades  and  fought  fiercely  to  smash 
down  the  sandbags  or  brickwork  and  get  a  few  more  yards 
of  clear  ground. 

They  have  sapped  their  way  underground  and  blown  up 
the  roofs  of  vaults  where  Germans  lay  in  hiding  with  ma- 
chine-guns. They  have  fought  in  small  parties,  gaining 
isolated  points  in  the  southern  part  of  the  village,  and  hold- 
ing on  to  them  under  heavy  fire  until  only  a  few  men  re- 
mained alive,  still  holding  on. 

There  have  been  fights  to  the  death  between  a  handful 
of  English  or  Irish  soldiers  and  a  dozen  or  more  Germans, 
meeting  each  other  in  the  darkness  of  deep  cellars  quarried 
out  from  the  chalk  subsoil,  and  German  gunners  peering 
out  of  slits  in  concrete  emplacements  below  ground  and 


118  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

firing  bursts  of  bullets  down  the  roadway  have  found  them- 
selves suddenly  in  the  grasp  of  men  covered  with  white  clay 
rising  out  of  holes  in  the  earth,  with  no  weapons  but  their 
picks. 

Ovillers  is  a  place  of  abominable  ruin, 

"Do  you  know  Neuville  St.  Vaast?"  asked  an  officer  this 
morning,  and  when  I  nodded  (because  I  had  a  near  call 
there),  he  said,  "Ovillers  beats  it  hollow,  for  sheer  annihila- 
tion." 

There  is  nothing  left  of  it  except  dust.  There  is  not  a 
wall  standing  two  feet  high,  or  a  bit  of  a  wall.  The  guns 
have  swept  it  flat. 

But  underground  there  are  still  great  cellars  quarried  out 
by  inhabitants  who  have  long  fled,  and  in  these  the  Germans 
are  holding  out  against  our  attacks  and  our  bombardments. 

Heavy  shells  have  opened  up  some  of  them,  and  filled 
them  with  dead  and  wounded,  but  many  still  stand  strong, 
and  out  of  them  come  the  enemy's  machine-guns  and  bomb- 
ers to  make  counter-attacks  against  the  ditches  and  debris 
from  which  our  men  are  working  forward.  The  ground  is 
pitted  with  enormous  shell  holes,  in  which  men  lie  buried. 
Ovillers  is  perhaps  more  ghastly  than  any  ruined  ground 
along  the  front. 


It  was  at  8  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July  7  that  the 
south-eastern  part  of  the  village,  was  taken  by  assault.  The 
North-Country  men  advanced  from  a  line  to  the  north  of 
La  Boiselle  after  a  great  bombardment,  and  went  over 
open  ground  to  the  labyrinth  of  trenches  which  defend  the 
village.  These  had  been  smashed  into  a  tumult  of  earth 
and  sandbags,  but,  as  usual,  some  of  the  German  machine 
gimners  had  been  untouched  in  their  dug-outs,  and  they 
came  up  to  serve  their  machines  as  soon  as  our  barrage 
lifted. 

Other  Germans  defended  themselves  with  bombs.    There 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  OVILLERS  119 

was  savage  fighting  between  the  broken  traverses,  in  shell 
craters,  and  in  ditches.  Many  of  our  men  fell,  but  others 
came  up  and  pushed  further  forward.  One  officer  and  a 
man  or  two  ran  straight  towards  a  German  machine-gun 
which  was  doing  deadly  work,  and  knocked  it  out  with  a 
well-aimed  bomb.  But  higher  up  on  this  maze  of  broken 
trenches  was  a  German  redoubt,  from  which  machine-gun 
fire  came  in  streams. 

Some  Irish  soldiers  tried  to  storm  the  place  but  suffered 
heavy  casualties  in  front  of  the  redoubt.  It  was  decided  to 
fall  back  a  little,  and  reform  the  line  for  the  night,  and  all 
through  the  night  the  men  worked  to  build  up  barricades 
to  cut  off  the  enemy  from  the  southern  end  of  the  village. 

That  end  was  being  "cleaned  out"  of  Germans,  who  were 
routed  out  of  cellars.  Many  of  them  were  glad  to  surrender 
and  grateful  for  the  life  they  had  expected  to  lose. 

"We  took  bags  of  'em,"  said  an  officer  in  charge  of  this 
work. 

Next  day  the  men  worked  their  way  forward  above 
ground  and  below  ground.  Some  crept  out  of  a  ditch  and 
worked  up  to  a  bombing  post  made  by  others  on  the  left 
of  the  village. 

Another  body  of  troops  made  a  sudden  forward  move- 
ment and,  taking  the  enemy  by  surprise,  marched  round 
the  left  and  took  up  a  line  right  across  the  south-west  end 
of  Ovillers  without  loss.  That  was  a  great  gain  which 
enabled  our  men  to  link  up  from  separate  points.  The  fight- 
ing to-day  has  been  a  further  process  of  fitting  up  this  jig- 
saw puzzle  of  isolated  groups  who  have  been  burrowing 
into  the  German  stronghold. 


A  great  adventure,  or  what  the  officers  call  a  fine  "stunt," 
was  carried  out  by  some  Lancashire  men  on  the  right  of  the 
village.  They  were  told  to  send  out  a  patrol  overland  in  the 
direction  of  Pozieres. 


120  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

I  think,  to  the  young  officers  in  charge,  it  must  have 
seemed  rather  Hke  a  pleasant  suggestion  to  go  and  discover 
the  North  Pole  or  the  Magnetic  North.  However,  the  idea 
appealed  to  them ;  they  would  see  some  new  country,  and 
there  was  quite  a  chance  of  individual  fighting,  which  is  so 
much  better  than  being  killed  in  a  ditch  by  shell-fire. 

With  them  went  a  young  machine-gun  officer,  who  is 
justly  proud  of  having  gone  out  with  sixteen  machine-guns 
and,  as  you  shall  hear,  of  coming  back  with  twenty. 

I  know  that  he  is  pleased  with  himself,  as  he  ought  to  be, 
because  he  had  a  laughing  light  in  his  eyes  when  I  gave 
him  a  lift  in  a  car  on  the  way  back  to  a  good  dinner,  and, 
having  escaped  without  a  scratch  (and  four  extra  guns) 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  thought  this  adventure  "a  topping 
bit  of  work." 

It  was  gallant  work,  and  as  far  as  the  first  day  went, 
without  loss.  The  little  company  of  men  struck  north-east- 
wards up  an  old  bit  of  communication  trench,  and  part  of 
the  way  in  the  open,  in  the  twilight  and  the  darkness  that 
followed.  They  were  going  steadily  into  German  territory, 
to  the  high  ground  which  slopes  down  from  Pozieres. 

There  were  lots  of  Germans  about — thousands  of  them 
not  enormously  far  away — but  they  did  not  expect  a  visit 
like  this,  and  were  not  watchful  of  this  piece  of  ground. 

After  working  forward  for  something  like  a  mile  they 
came  to  a  redoubt  inhabited  by  German  bombers. 

What  happened  then  is  not  very  clear  to  me,  and  was 
certainly  not  very  clear  to  the  Germans.  But  this  place  was 
passed  successfully,  and  it  was  further  on  that  my  machine- 
gun  friend  (the  fellow  with  the  sparkle  in  his  eyes)  in- 
creased his  number  of  guns. 

This  part  of  his  adventure  is  also  somewhat  confused,  as 
most  fighting  is.  He  tells  me  that  he  "pinched"  the  guns. 
Also  that  he  made  "a  bag  of  'em."  Anyhow,  he  captured 
them,  and  has  brought  them  back,  which  is  a  very  good 
proof  that  they  were  taken. 

So  far  all  went  well.    The  night  was  spent  in  consolidat- 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  OVILLERS  121 

mg  this  extraordinary  position  right  in  the  heart  of  German 
territory,  and  all  next  day  our  men  stayed  there.  They  had 
a  wonderful  view  of  the  country  below  them,  saw  many 
things  worth  noting  for  future  use,  and  sent  bursts  of 
machine-gun  fire  at  the  enemy's  infantry  moving  down  to 
attack  our  troops. 

But  it  was  too  good  to  last.  The  enemy  became  aware 
that  they  were  being  hit  from  a  position  where  none  of  our 
troops  could  possibly  be,  according  to  the  logic  of  things. 

They  could  hardly  believe  their  eyes,  I  imagine,  when  they 
saw  these  illogical  young  gentlemen  making  themselves  at 
home  in  this  extremely  advanced  post. 

There  must  have  been  some  frightful  words  used  by  Ger- 
man officers  before  they  ordered  an  infantry  attack  to  clear 
these  Englishmen  out.  The  infantry  came  down  a  trench 
from  Pozieres,  but  as  they  came  they  were  met  by  a  stream 
of  machine-gun  fire  directed  by  the  young  officer  who  had 
"pinched"  four  more  guns  than  he  had  taken  out. 

They  suffered  heavy  casualties,  and  the  attack  broke 
down.  But  then  the  enemy  put  his  guns  to  work,  as  he 
always  does  when  his  infantry  fails,  and  what  had  been  a 
great  adventure,  with  a  sporting  chance,  became  a  deadly 
business,  with  all  the  odds  against  our  men. 

The  enemy's  shell-fire  was  concentrated  heavily  upon  this 
one  bit  of  trench  away  out  in  the  open,  and  the  ground  was 
ploughed  up  with  high  explosives.  The  machine-guns  were 
taken  back,  but  the  British  held  on  until  at  last  only  an 
officer  and  six  men  were  left. 

Those  who  came  back  unwounded  numbered  in  the  end 
only  one  officer  and  one  man — with  the  exception  of  a 
sergeant  who  stayed  behind  with  a  wounded  Irishman.  He 
would  not  leave  his  comrade,  and  for  thirty-six  hours  stayed 
out  in  his  exposed  position,  with  heavy  shells  falling  on 
every  side  of  him. 

The  Irishman  was  delirious,  and  making  such  a  noise 
that  his  friend  knocked  him  on  the  head  to  keep  him  quiet. 


122  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

Every  time  a  shell  burst  near  him  he  shouted  out,  "You've 
missed  me  again,  Fritz." 

But  the  sergeant  himself  kept  his  wits.  He  is  a  Lanca- 
shire man  and  with  all  the  dogged  pluck  of  Lancashire. 

When  the  bombardment  quieted  down  he  brought  back 
his  friend,  and  then  went  out  to  No  Man's  Land  to  search 
for  another  one. 


But  let  us  not  forget  that  our  men  have  not  the  monopoly 
of  courage  in  this  war.  We  have  against  us  a  brave  enemy, 
and  again  and  again  during  this  battle  our  officers  and  men 
have  paid  a  tribute  to  the  stubborn  fighting  qualities  of  the 
German  soldiers. 

"For  goodness  sake,"  said  one  officer,  "get  rid  of  that 
strange  idea  in  the  minds  of  many  people  at  home  that  we 
are  fighting  old  men  and  boys  and  cripples. 

"All  the  Germans  we  have  met  and  captured  have  been 
big,  hefty  fellows,  well  fed  until  our  bombardment  stopped 
their  food  and  with  plenty  of  pluck  in  them. 

"The  courage  of  their  machine-gunners  especially,  is — 
worse  luck  for  us — quite  splendid." 

As  far  as  food  goes  the  watchword  of  the  German  people 
is  "soldiers  first." 

That  they  are  suffering  themselves  seems  certain  from 
the  letters  found  in  great  numbers  in  their  captured  dug-out. 
It  seems  to  me  incredible  that  these  should  be  fictitious. 

They  bear  in  every  line  the  imprint  of  bitter  truth,  and 
they  read  like  a  cry  from  starving  people. 

"You  reproach  me  with  writing  so  little  to  you.  What 
can  I  write?  If  I  told  the  truth  about  conditions  here  I 
should  be  locked  up,  and  as  I  do  not  wish  to  write  lies  to 
you  I  had  better  say  nothing. 

"We  have  tickets  for  everything  now — flour,  meat, 
sausage,  butter,  fat,  potatoes,  sugar,  soup,  &c.  We  are 
really  nothing  more  than  tickets  our.s€lves," 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  OVH^LERS  123 

And  in  another  letter  from  Cologne : — 

"Hunger  is  making  itself  felt  here.  During  the  week 
none  of  the  families  received  any  potatoes.  The  allowance 
now  is  one  egg  per  head  per  week  and  half  a  pound  of 
bread  and  fifty  grammes  of  butter  per  head  per  day. 

"England  is  not  so  wrong  about  starving  us  out.  If  the 
war  lasts  three  months  longer  we  shall  be  done.  It  is  a 
terrible  time  for  Germany.  God  is  punishing  us  too 
severely." 

There  is  only  one  satisfaction  in  these  pitiful  letters.  It 
is  the  hope  it  gives  us  that  the  enemy — not  these  poor 
women  and  children,  but  the  Devil  at  the  back  of  the  busi- 
ness— will  realise  soon  that  war  does  not  pay,  and  will  haul 
down  the  flag  with  its  skull  and  crossbones. 


XIII 
THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE 


I 

July  15 
For  a  little  while^ — yes,  and  even  now — it  has  seemed  some- 
thing rather  marvellous.  We  have  broken  through  the 
enemy's  second  line ;  through,  and  beyond  on  a  front  of  two 
and  a  half  miles,  and  for  the  first  time  since  October  of 
19 14  cavalry  has  been  in  action.  Men  who  fought  in  the 
retreat  from  Mons,  the  little  remnant  left,  look  back  on  the 
old  days  when  the  enemy's  avalanche  of  men  swept  down 
on  them,  and  say,  as  one  said  to  me  yesterday,  "Through 
the  second  line?  Then  we  have  broken  the  evil  spell."  So 
it  seems  to  men  who  fought  in  the  first  battle  of  Ypres,  or 
in  the  second,  and  then  for  a  year  more  stood  in  their 
trenches  staring  through  loopholes  at  the  zigzag  of  German 
lines,  barbwired,  deeply  dug,  fortified  with  redoubts,  ma- 
chine-gtm  emplacements  and  strong  places — a  great  system 
of  earthworks  on  high  ground,  nearly  always  on  high 
ground,  which  made  one  grow  cold  to  see  in  aeroplane 
photographs — supported  by  masses  of  guns  which  had  been 
registered  on  every  road  and  trench  of  ours. 

To  smash  through  that  could  be  done  at  a  great  cost. 
Given  a  certain  number  of  guns  on  a  certain  length  of  front, 
with  hardened  troops  ready  for  a  big  dash,  and  there  was 
no  doubt  that  we  could  break  the  enemy's  first  line,  or 
system,  as  we  broke  through  at  Neuve  Chapelle  and  at 
Loos.  But  afterwards?  That  was  the  hard  thing  to  solve. 
No  one  on  the  Western  front  had  found  the  formula  to 
carry  the  offensive  beyond  the  first  line  without  coming  to 

1-4 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    125 

a  dead  check  at  a  river  of  blood.  The  French  troops  who 
broke  through  in  the  Champagne  fell  before  they  reached 
the  second  line.  At  Loos  Highlanders  and  Londoners 
swept  through  the  first  line  and  then,  at  Hill  70  and  Hulluch, 
were  faced  by  annihilating  fire,  and  could  go  no  further 
except  to  death.  .  .  .  But  to-day  we  broke  the  second 
German  line. 


I  had  the  luck  to  give  the  news  to  some  of  our  men  who 
had  been  wounded  early  in  the  battle.  It  was  worth  a 
king's  ransom  to  see  their  gladness.  "Have  we  got  through, 
sir?"  asked  an  English  boy,  bandaged  about  the  head  and 
face.  When  I  told  him  a  great  light  came  into  his  eyes,  and 
he  said  "By  Jove !  .  .  .  That's  pretty  good !" 

A  wounded  officer  raised  himself  on  a  stretcher  and  called 
out  to  me  as  I  passed,  "Any  news?  .  .  .  How  are  we  doing 
up  there?  .  .  .  What,  right  through?  .  .  .  Oh,  splendid!" 
Because  I  had  come  down  from  the  battlefield,  and  might 
know  something,  officers  and  men  on  the  roads  asked  eager 
questions.  A  doctor  came  out  of  an  operating  theatre  in 
a  field  hospital.  He  was  very  busy  there  with  men  who 
could  not  answer  questions.  He  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
doorway  of  the  tent  wiping  his  hands  on  a  towel. 

"How's  it  going?    Have  we  broken  through?" 

He  stared  at  me  when  I  answered,  as  though  searching 
for  the  truth  in  me,  and  said,  "Sure?  ...  I  hardly  thought 
we  could  do  it." 

The  news  spread  quickly  behind  the  lines,  and  there  has 
been  a  queer  thrill  in  the  air  to-day,  exciting  men  with  the 
promise  of  victory.  I  think  they,  too,  feel  that  an  evil  spell 
has  been  broken  because  British  soldiers  have  broken  the 
second  German  line.     Their  hopes  run  ahead  of  the  facts. 

Their  imagination  has  visions  of  an  immediate  German 
rout,  and  the  enormous  patience  of  the  French  people,  in- 
credulous, after  two  years,  of  any  quick  ending,   is  not 


126  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

shared  by  some  of  our  young  officers  and  men,  who  believe 
that  we  have  the  enemy  on  the  run,  not  remembering  his 
third  Hne,  and  fourth,  and  God  knows  how  many  more. 

For  a  day,  anyhow,  victory  has  been  in  the  air,  and  be- 
cause it  was  the  14th  of  July,  France's  day,  there  are  flags 
waving  everywhere,  on  wayside  cottages  and  barns  and 
across  the  streets  of  an  old  French  town.  Women  and 
children  are  carrying  the  tricolour,  and  as  our  wounded 
come  down  in  ambulances  and  lorries,  mostly  lightly- 
wounded  men  straight  out  of  the  battle,  wearing  German 
helmets  on  bandaged  heads,  waving  bandaged  hands,  or 
staring  out  gravely,  with  a  pain  in  their  eyes,  at  the  life  of 
the  roads  which  is  theirs  again,  the  flags  flutter  up  to  them 
and  laughing  girls  cry  "Merci,  camarades!"  and  old  men 
stand  on  the  roadsides  raising  their  hats  to  these  boys  of 
ours  who  have  won  back  a  mile  or  two  more  of  the  soil  of 
France,  and  have  been  touched  by  fire. 

All  this  is  part  of  the  emotion  which  belongs  to  war,  the 
sentiment  and  the  faith  and  the  hope  without  which  men 
could  not  fight  nor  wom.en  hide  their  tears. 

But  the  business  of  war  itself  is  different  and  of  a  grim- 
mer kind,  not  admitting  sentiment  to  those  Generals  of  ours 
who  have  been  calculating  chances  based  upon  the  position 
of  their  guns,  the  quantity  of  their  ammunition,  their  re- 
serves of  men,  the  enemy's  dispositions,  resources  and  dif- 
ficulties, and  all  the  mechanics  of  a  great  battle.  They  have 
had  to  study  human  nature,  too,  as  well  as  the  mechanism 
of  war.  To  how  great  a  test  could  they  put  these  battalions 
of  ours,  in  the  plan  to  smash  the  German  second  line?  How 
long,  for  instance,  could  they  "stick  it"  in  Bernafay  Wood 
and  the  Trones  Wood?  Was  it  possible  to  put  in  troops 
already  tired  by  hard  fighting?  How  could  they  be  replaced 
by  fresh  troops?  ...  a  thousand  problems  of  man-power 
and  gun-power  which  must  be  reckoned  out,  without  much 
margin  of  error,  if  all  the  cost  of  the  first  part  of  the  battle 
— a  tragic  cost — were  to  be  justified  by  success  in  the  second 
part. 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    127 

Working  night  and  day,  snatching  a  little  sleep  and  a  little 
food  at  odd  hours,  in  constant  touch  with  telephones  whis- 
pering messages  from  headquarters,  batteries,  battalion 
commanders  in  the  field,  receiving  reports  of  local  successes 
and  local  failures  of  German  counter-attacks,  of  German 
reinforcements  in  guns  and  men,  our  divisional  Generals 
and  Brigadiers,  keeping  in  touch  with  Corps  Generals  and 
Army  Generals,  had  to  prepare  for  the  second  big  blow.  It 
would  have  to  be  quick  and  hard. 


There  had  been  a  whole  fortnight's  fighting  since  the 
great  attack  was  launched  on  the  First  of  July,  and  it  had 
been  very  desperate  fighting.  On  the  left  from  Hebuterne 
down  to  Beaumont-Hamel  the  heroic  self-sacrifice  of  great 
numbers  of  men  had  not  been  rewarded  by  success.  That 
side  of  the  German  fortress  lines  had  remained  standing — 
broken  in  places,  but  not  carried  nor  held  after  the  first 
bloody  assaults. 

The  enemy  had  concentrated  his  defensive  strength  at 
that  part  of  the  line,  believing  the  main  attack  was  to  be 
delivered  there,  and  it  was  one  vast  redoubt  crammed  with 
machine-guns  which  scythed  down  battalions  of  our  men 
as  they  advanced  with  incomparable  valour.  Further  south 
the  stronghold  of  Ovillers  was  not  yet  taken,  though  almost 
surrounded,  and  penetrated  by  bodies  of  grenadiers  bombing 
their  way  into  the  quarries  and  cellars. 

It  was  through  the  southern  bastion  of  the  German  fort- 
ress-position that  our  troops  had  stormed  their  way,  and  in 
fourteen  days  of  hard  stubborn  fighting  they  had  struggled 
forward  up  the  high  ground  from  the  Fricourt  ridge  to  the 
Montauban  ridge.  In  my  despatches  I  have  endeavoured  to 
record  the  narrative  of  these  daily  battles,  and  to  give  some 
faint  idea  of  the  wonderful  courage  and  tenacity  of  our 
men,  who  captured  Contalmaison  and  lost  it  and  captured 


128  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

it  again  under  terrible  storms  of  fire,  who  went  forward 
to  the  Battle  of  the  Woods,  fighting  for  every  yard  of  the 
way  in  Bailiff  Wood  on  the  left,  and  Trones  Wood  on  the 
right,  and  Mametz  Wood  in  the  centre,  with  little  copses  of 
naked  tree-trunks  round  about,  into  which  the  enemy  hurled 
his  high  explosives. 

Wave  after  wave  of  splendid  men  went  up.  Not  one  of 
these  places  was  won  easily.  The  spirit  of  our  race,  all  the 
steel  in  it,  all  the  fire  in  its  blood,  was  needed  to  gain  the 
ground  swept  by  machine-guns  and  ploughed  by  shells. 
There  were  hours  when  men  of  weaker  stock  would  have 
despaired  and  yielded.  But  these  men  of  ours  would  not  be 
beaten.  Fresh  waves  of  them  went  to  get  back  in  the 
morning  what  had  been  lost  at  night,  or  at  night  what  had 
been  lost  by  day  because  of  the  fire  which  had  destroyed 
those  who  had  gone  up  first.  And  every  day  they  made  a 
little  progress,  thrusting  forward  an  advance  post  here, 
winning  a  new  bit  of  wood  there,  bombing  the  Germans  back 
from  ground  we  needed  for  a  new  advance. 

There  was  not  a  man  among  all  our  men  who  had  any 
misunderstanding  as  to  the  purpose  of  the* struggle.  I  have 
spoken  to  hundreds  of  them,  and  all  knew  that  it  was  "up 
to  them,"  as  they  say,  to  push  on  to  the  second  German  line 
so  that  other  men  could  break  it.  I  know  that  many  of  these 
men,  quite  simple  fellows,  felt  individually  that  upon  his 
single  courage,  his  last  bit  of  pushful  strength,  his  last 
stumble  over  a  yard  of  earth  towards  that  second  German 
line,  depended,  as  far  as  one  man's  strength  tells,  the  suc- 
cess of  the  great  attack.  It  was  this  spirit  which  made  them 
shout  "No  surrender!"  when  surrender  would  have  been  an 
easy  way  of  escape,  and  "stick  it"  in  places  of  infernal  hor- 
ror.    I  write  the  plain  unvarnished  truth. 

It  was  when  Contalmaison — the  Stronghold  of  the  Woods 
— was  finally  and  securely  taken,  when  Mametz  Wood  and 
Bailiff  Wood  were  mostly  ours,  and  when  our  positions  were 
strengthened  at  Montauban  with  some  footing  in  Trones 
Wood,  that  the  attack  upon  the  second  German  line  became 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    129 

possible.  It  was  for  that  moment  that  our  generals  were 
now  waiting  and  preparing.  Men  were  there  who  had 
fought  long  in  the  Ypres  salient,  hardened  to  every  phase 
of  trench  warfare,  and  men  who  had  won  great  honour  in 
the  Loos  salient,  and  men,  all  of  them,  who  had  the  spirit  of 
attack. 

I  watched  them  passing  along  the  roads  towards  the 
front,  saw  old  friends  in  their  ranks,  and  knew,  as  I  looked, 
that  in  all  the  w^orld  there  are  not  more  splendid  soldiers. 
Hardened  by  a  long'campaign,  bronzed  to  the  colour  of  their 
belts,  marching  with  most  perfect  discipline,  these  hand- 
some, clean-cut  men  went  into  the  battlefield  whistling  as  on 
the  first  day  of  the  battle  their  comrades  had  gone  singing, 
though  they  knew  that  in  a  few  hours  it  would  be  hell  for 
them.  As  I  watched  them  pass  something  broke  in  my 
heart  so  that  I  could  have  wept  silly  tears.  There  were 
other  men,  harder  than  I,  who  were  stirred  by  the  same 
emotion,  and  cursed  the  war. 


The  attack  was  to  begin  before  the  dawn.  Behind  the 
lines,  as  I  went  up  to  the  front  in  the  darkness,  the  little 
villages  of  France  were  asleep.  It  was  a  night  of  beauty, 
very  warm  and  calm,  with  a  moon  giving  a  milky  light  to 
the  world.  Clouds  trailed  across  it  without  obscuring  its 
brightness,  and  there  was  only  one  star  visible — a  watchful 
eye  up  there  looking  down  upon  the  battlefields. 

The  whitewashed  walls  of  cottages  and  barns  appeared 
out  of  great  gulfs  of  shadow,  and  trees  on  high  ground 
above  the  fields  were  cut  black  against  the  moonlight.  Warm 
scents  of  hay  and  moist  earth,  and  new-baked  bread,  and  the 
acrid  smell  of  French  farmyards  came  upon  the  air.  Fur- 
ther forward  there  was  still  great  quietude  along  the  roads, 
but  here  and  there  long  supply  columns  and  ambulance  con- 
voys loomed  black  under  the  trees. 


ISO  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

The  ambulances  were  empty  before  the  battle.  For  sev- 
eral miles  only  one  figure  stood  at  every  cross-road.  It  was 
the  figure  of  Christ  on  a  wayside  Calvary.  Sentries  gave 
their  challenge,  as  on  the  first  night  of  battle,  and  pres- 
ently I  saw  other  soldiers  about  in  the  dark  entries  of  French 
courtyards,  their  bayonets  shining  like  a  streak  of  light,  and 
officers  standing  together  with  whispered  consultations,  and, 
along  side  roads  men  marching. 

A  long  column  of  them  came  to  a  halt  to  let  our  car  pass, 
and  I  looked  into  the  men's  eyes.  There  was  a  young  officer 
there  whose  face  I  should  know  if  I  saw  him  again  in  the 
world,  because  it  was  in  the  rays  of  a  lantern,  and  had  a 
white  light  on  it.    He  had  the  look  of  Lancelot. 

The  men  were  very  quiet.  Very  quiet  also  were  camps  of 
men  and  horses  in  fields  dipping  down  to  hollows  where  a 
few  lanterns  twinkled,  and  presently  quite  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  battlefields  I  passed  great  columns  of  horse-gunners 
and  horse  transport  and  cavalry  with  their  lances  up,  and 
Indian  native  cavalry,  still  as  statues.  The  men  were  drawn 
up  along  the  side  of  the  road,  and  their  figures  were  utterly 
black  in  the  darkness  between  an  old  millhouse  and  some 
other  buildings.  Except  for  one  man  who  was  humming  a 
tune,  they  were  quite  silent,  and  they  hardly  stirred  in  their 
saddles.  They  seemed  to  be  waiting,  with  some  grim 
expectation. 

The  road  was  lined  with  trees  which  made  a  tunnel  with 
its  foliage,  and  at  one  end  of  the  tunnel  which  showed  a 
patch  of  sky,  there  were  strange  lights  flashing,  like  flaming 
swords  cutting  through  the  darkness.  We  went  up  towards 
the  lights  and  towards  a  monstrous  tumult  of  noise,  and 
walked  straight  across  country  towards  the  centre  of  a  circle 
of  fire  which  was  all  around  us.  Our  artillery  was  smash- 
ing the  German  line. 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    131 


I  described,  perhaps  at  too  great  length,  the  bombardment 
on  the  night  before  the  ist  of  July.  Then  it  seemed  to  me 
that  nothing  could  be  more  overwhelming  to  one's  soul  and 
senses.  But  this  was  worse — more  wonderful  and  more 
terrible.  As  I  stumbled  over  broken  ground  and  shell  holes, 
and  got  caught  in  coils  of  wire,  a  cold  sweat  broke  out 
upon  me,  and  for  a  little  while  I  was  horribly  afraid.  It 
was  not  fear  for  myself.  It  was  just  fear,  the  fear  that  an 
animal  may  have  when  the  sky  is  full  of  lightning — a 
sensuous  terror.  The  hell  of  war  encircled  us,  and  its  waves 
of  sound  and  light  beat  upon  us. 

Our  batteries  were  firing  with  an  intense  fury.  The 
flashes  of  them  were  away  back  behind  us — where  the 
heavies  have  their  hiding  places — and  over  all  the  ground  in 
front  of  our  new  line  of  attack.  They  came  out  of  the  black 
earth  with  short,  sharp  stabs  of  red  flame  whose  light  filled 
the  hollows  with  pools  of  fire.  And  the  sky  and  the  ridges 
of  ground  and  the  earthworks  and  ruins  and  woods  across 
our  lines  were  blazing  with  the  flashes  of  bursting  shells. 
Blinding  light  leapt  about  like  a  will  o'  the  wisp.  For  a 
second  it  lit  up  all  the  horizon  over  Contalmaison,  and  gave 
a  sudden  picture,  ghastly  white,  of  the  broken  chateau  with 
stumps  of  trees  about  it.  Then  it  was  blotted  out  by  a 
great  blackness,  and  instantly  shifted  to  Mametz  Wood  or 
to  Montauban,  revealing  their  shapes  intensely  and  the 
shells  crashing  beyond  them,  until  they,  too,  disappeared 
with  the  click  of  a  black  shutter.  A  moment  later  and 
Fricourt  was  filled  with  white  brilliance,  so  that  every  bit  of 
its  ruin,  its  hideous  rummage  of  earth,  its  old  mine-craters, 
and  its  plague-stricken  stumps  of  trees  were  etched  upon 
one's  eyes.  Along  the  German  second  line  by  Bazentin-le- 
Grand,  Bazentin-le-Petit,  and  Longueval,  at  the  back  of  the 
woods,  our  shells  were  bursting  without  a  second's  pause 
and  in  great  clusters.     They  tare  open  the  ground  and  let 


132  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

out  gusts  of  flames.  Flame  fountains  rose  and  spread  from 
the  German  trenches  above  Pearl  Wood.  The  dark  night 
was  rent  with  all  these  flames,  and  hundreds  of  batteries 
were  feeding  the  fires. 

Every  calibre  of  gun  was  at  work.  The  heavy  shells,  15- 
inch,  12-inch,  8-inch,  6-inch,  4.7,  came  overhead  like  flocks 
of  birds — infernal  birds  with  wings  that  beat  the  air  into 
waves  and  came  whining  with  a  shrill  high  note,  and 
stooped  to  earth  with  a  monstrous  roar.  The  lighter  bat- 
teries, far  forward,  were  beating  the  devil's  tattoo,  one-two- 
three-four,  one-two-three- four,  with  sharp  knocks  that 
clouted  one's  ears.  I  sat  on  a  wooden  box  on  the  top  of 
an  old  dug-out  in  the  midst  of  all  this  fury.  There  was  a 
great  gun  to  my  left,  and  every  time  it  fired  it  shook  the 
box,  and  all  the  earth  underneath,  with  a  violent  vibration. 

The  moon  disappeared  soon  after  3  o'clock,  and  no  stars 
were  to  be  seen.  But  presently  a  faint  ghost  of  dawn  ap- 
peared. The  white  earth  of  the  old,  disused  trenches  about 
me  became  visible.  A  lark  rose  and  sang  overhead.  And 
at  3.30  there  was  a  sudden  moment  of  hush.  It  was  the 
lifting  of  the  guns,  and  the  time  of  attack.  Over  there  in 
the  darkness  by  Mametz  Wood  and  Montauban  thousands 
of  m^en,  the  men  I  had  seen  going  up,  had  risen  to  their  feet, 
and  were  going  forward  to  the  second  German  line,  or  to 
the  place  where  death  was  waiting  for  them,  before  the 
light  came. 

6 

The  light  came  very  quickly.  It  was  strange  what  a 
difference  a  few  minutes  made.  Very  faintly,  but  steadily, 
the  dawn  crept  through  the  darkness,  revealing  the  forms 
of  things  and  a  little  colour  in  the  grass.  The  sandbags  at 
my  feet  whitened.  Over  at  Ovillers  there  were  clouds  of 
smoke,  and  from  its  denseness  red  and  white  rockets  shot 
up  and  remained  in  the  sky  for  several  seconds.  Other 
rockets,  red  and  white  and  green,  rose  to  the  right  of  Con- 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    133 

talmaison  towards  Bazentin-le-Grand.  Our  infantry  was 
advancing. 

A  new  sound  came  into  the  general  din  of  gunfire.  It  was 
a  kind  of  swishing  noise,  Hke  that  of  flames  in  a  strong 
wind,     I  knew  what  it  meant. 

"Enemy  machine-guns,"  said  an  artillery  observer,  who 
had  just  come  out  of  his  hole  in  the  ground.  There  must 
have  been  many  of  them  to  make  that  noise. 

Our  own  artillery  had  burst  out  into  a  new  uproar.  I 
could  see  our  shells  bursting  further  forward,  or  thought  I 
could. 

"I  believe  our  men  are  getting  on,"  said  an  officer,  staring 
through  his  glasses. 

The  gunner  observer  had  one  eye  to  a  telescopve. 

"There's  too  much  mist  about.  And,  anyhow,  one  can't 
make  out  the  confusion  of  battle.  It's  always  hopeless. 
And  what  the  devil  is  that  light?" 

"Must  be  a  signal,"  said  the  gunner  officer.  "I  think  I'd 
better  report  it." 

He  put  his  head  into  the  dug-out,  and  spoke  to  a  man 
sitting  by  a  telephone. 

At  3.55  the  light  was  clear  enough  for  one  to  see  German 
shrapnel,  very  black  and  thick,  between  Mametz  Wood 
and  Bazentin  Wood.  High  explosives  were  bursting  there 
too.  The  enemy  had  got  his  guns  to  work  upon  our 
infantry. 

At  4  o'clock  there  was  a  humming  sound  overhead,  and 
I  looked  up  and  saw  the  first  aeroplane  flying  towards  the 
German  lines,  just  as  I  had  seen  one  on  the  first  day  of 
battle.  It  flew  very  low — no  more  than  500  ft.  high — and 
went  very  steadily  on  towards  the  furnace,  brave  moth ! 

At  4.10  there  was  a  red  glow  to  the  right  of  Montauban. 
It  rose  with  a  pulsing  light  and  spread  upwards — a  great 
torch  with  sparks  dancing  over  it. 

"By  Jove!"  said  one  of  the  men  near  me.  "That's 
Longueval  on  fire !" 

In  a  little  while  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.    I  could  see 


134  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  sharp  edge  of  broken  buildings  in  the  heart  of  the  red 
glow.    The  village  of  Longueval  was  in  flames. 

From  behind  the  north-west  corner  of  Mametz  Wood  a 
great  rosy  light  rose  like  a  cloud  in  the  setting  sun,  but  more 
glowing  at  its  base.  It  died  out  three  times  and  rose  again, 
vividly,  and  then  appeared  no  more.  The  gunner  observer 
was  bothered  again.  Was  it  a  signal  or  an  explosion? 
With  so  many  lights  and  flames  about  it  was  difficult  to  tell. 

At  about  4.30  I  heard  another  furious  outburst  of  ma- 
chine-gun fire  in  the  direction  of  Longueval,  and  it  seemed 
to  spread  westwards  along  Bazentin-le-Grand  and  Bazen- 
tin-le-Petit.  I  strained  my  eyes  to  see  any  of  our  in- 
fantry, but  dense  clouds  of  smoke  were  rolling  over  the 
ground  past  Contalmaison  and  between  Mametz  and  Bazen- 
tin  woods.  It  seemed  as  if  we  were  putting  up  a  smoke 
barrage  there,  and  later  a  great  volume  of  smoke  hid  the 
ground  by  Montauban. 

The  enemy's  artillery  was  now  firing  with  great  violence. 
Enormous  shellbursts  flung  up  the  earth  along  the  line  of 
our  advance,  and  the  black  shrapnel  smoke  was  hanging 
heavily  above.  It  seemed  to  me  that  some  of  their  guns 
were  firing  wildly  and  blindly.  High  explosives  burst  down 
below  Fricourt,  where  there  was  nothing  to  hurt,  and  in 
places  far  afield.  The  German  gunners  had  got  the  wind 
up,  as  soldiers  say,  and  now  that  darkness  had  gone  and 
daylight  come  our  men  must  have  gone  far  ahead,  if  luck 
was  theirs.  Had  they  broken  the  second  German  line  ?  Men 
waiting  for  any  news  of  them  found  the  strain  of  ignorance 
intolerable.  .  .  .  What  were  they  doing  up  there? 


The  first  men  to  come  back  from  the  battle  were  the 
wounded.  They  were  the  lightly  wounded,  or  at  least  men 
who  could  walk.  They  came  across  the  fields  in  twos  and 
threes  at  first,  or  alone,  single  limping  figures,  at  a  slow 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    136 

pace.  But  after  an  hour  or  two  they  came  in  a  straggling 
procession  from  the  first-aid  dressing  stations  up  in  the 
lines — men  with  bandaged  heads,  men  with  their  arms  in 
slings,  men  with  wounded  feet,  so  that  they  could  only  hop 
along  with  an  arm  round  a  comrade's  neck. 

Some  of  them  were  all  blood-stained,  with  blood  on  their 
faces  and  hands  and  clothes.  Others  had  their  uniforms 
torn  to  tatters,  and  there  were  men  who  were  bare  almost 
to  the  waist,  with  a  jacket  slung  over  one  shoulder.  There 
was  hardly  a  man  among  them  who  wore  his  steel  helmet, 
though  some  carried  them  slung  to  the  rifle,  and  others  wore 
German  helmets  and  German  caps.  Ambulances  were  wait- 
ing for  them,  and  the  stretcher-bearers  were  busy  with  the 
bad  cases.  The  stretcher-l^earers  had  done  their  duty  as 
gallantly  as  the  fighting  men,  and  some  of  their  own  com- 
rades were  among  the  wounded. 

But  they  had  been  reinforced  by  men  who  do  not  belong 
to  the  R.A.M.C.  Some  of  the  stretcher^"  were  being  carried 
by  men  in  grey  uniforms  with  flat  round  caps,  who  walked 
stolidly  booking  about  them,  at  all  those  British  soldiers,  and 
at  those  fields  on  the  British  side,  with  curious  eyes  as 
though  everything  were  strange  to  them.  They  were  Ger- 
man prisoners  paying  for  the  privilege  of  life,  and  glad 
to  pay. 

Later  in  the  day  there  came  down  a  long  column  of  these 
men,  not  carrying  stretchers,  but  marching  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  under  armed  escort.  There  were  over  700  of 
them  in  this  one  convoy,  as  a  living  proof  that  the  day  had 
gone  well  for  British  arms.  They  were  tall,  sturdy  men  for 
the  most  part,  and  in  spite  of  their  ordeal  by  fire  most  of 
them  looked  in  good  physical  health,  though  haggard  and 
hollow-eyed  and  a  little  dazed.  There  was  a  number  of 
wounded  among  them  who  dragged  wearily  by  the  side  of 
their  luckier  friends,  but  those  who  were  badly  hurt  trav- 
elled with  our  own  wounded,  and  I  saw  several  of  them 
on  the  lorries  with  their  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  men 
who  had  gone  out  to  kill  them. 


136  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

So  the  backwash  of  battle  came  down  like  a  tide,  but  long 
before  then  I  knew  that  we  had  broken  the  second  German 
line  and  that  our  men  were  fighting  on  the  high  ground 
beyond.  The  village  of  Longueval  was  ours.  Bazentin-le- 
Grand,  both  wood  and  village,  and  Bazentin-le-Petit,  were 
ours.  A  gallant  body  of  men  had  swept  through  Trones 
Wood,  on  the  extreme  right  of  the  line,  and  patrols  were 
pushing  into  Delville  Wood  and  towards  the  highest  ridge 
behind  the  broken  German  trenches.  On  the  left  our  men 
had  swept  up  and  beyond  Contalmaison  Villa,  which  stands 
far  north  of  the  village. 

Every  objective  of  the  attack  had  been  carried  and  our 
losses  were  not  enormously  heavy.  The  Germau  lines  had 
been  captured  on  a  front  of  nearly  three  miles — and  the 
cavalry  was  going  in. 

Scottish  troops  were  amongst  those  who  went  first  into 
Longueval — men  belonging  to  famous  old  regiments — and 
they  fought  very  grimly,  according  to  the  spirit  of  their 
race,  with  their  blood  set  on  fire  by  the  music  of  the  pipes 
that  went  with  them.  Before  the  light  of  dawn  came,  and 
when  our  guns  lifted  forward,  they  rose  from  the  ground 
just  north  of  Montauban  and  went  forward  across  No 
Man's  Land  towards  the  German  trenches.  They  had  to 
make  a  distance  of  1,200  yards  over  open  ground  and  came 
at  once  under  heavy  shell-fire  and  an  enfilade  fire  from 
machine-guns. 

The  enemy  also  used  smoke  bombs,  and  the  ground  was 
ploughed  with  high  explosives.  A  number  of  men  fell,  but 
the  others  went  forward  shouting  and  reached  the  German 
line.  In  some  parts  the  wire  had  not  been  cut  by  our  bom- 
bardment, but  the  Highlanders  hurled  themselves  upon  it 
and  beat  their  way.  Machine-guns  were  pattering  bullets 
upon  their  ranks,  but  not  for  long.  The  men  poured  through 
and  surged  in  waves  into  and  across  the  German  trenches. 
Every  man  among  them  was  a  grenadier,  provided  with 
bombs  and  with  supplies  coming  up  behind.  It  was  with 
the  bomb,  the  most  deadly  weapon  of  this  murderous  war 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    137 

for  close  combat,  that  the  men  fought  their  way  through. 
The  German  soldiers  defended  themselves  with  their  own 
hand  grenades  when  their  machine-guns  had  been  knocked 
out  in  the  first  line  trenches,  but  as  they  sprang  out  of  their 
dug-outs  when  the  bombardment  lifted  and  our  men  were 
upon  them  they  had  but  a  poor  chance  of  life  unless  they 
were  quick  to  surrender.  I  hear  that  these  trenches  in  the 
second  German  line  were  not  deeply  dug,  and  that  the  dug- 
outs themselves  were  hardly  bomb-proof. 

For  once  in  a  way  the  enemy  had  been  lazy  and  over- 
confident, and  he  paid  now  a  bitter  price  for  his  pride  in 
believing  that  the  first  line  was  impregnable.  I  do  not  care 
to  write  about  this  part  of  the  fighting.  It  was  bloody 
work,  and  would  not  be  good  to  read.  One  incident  was 
told  me  by  a  kilted  sergeant  as  he  lay  wounded.  From  one 
of  the  dug-outs  came  a  German  officer.  He  had  a  wild 
light  in  his  eyes,  and  carried  a  great  axe. 

"I  surrender,"  he  said,  in  good  English. 

And  in  broad  Scotch  the  sergeant  told  him  that  if  he  had 
an  idea  of  surrendering  it  would  be  a  good  and  wise  thing 
to  drop  his  chopper  first.  But  the  German  officer  swung  it 
high,  and  it  came  like  a  flash  past  the  sergeant's  head.  Like 
a  flash  also  a  bayonet  did  its  work. 


8 

While  men  were  "cleaning  up"  the  dug-outs  in  the  first- 
line  trenches  other  men  pressed  on  and  stormed  their  way 
into  Longueval  village.  The  great  fires  there  which  I  had 
seen  in  the  darkness  had  died  down,  and  there  was  only  the 
glow  and  smoulder  of  them  in  the  ruins.  But  machine-guns 
were  still  chattering  in  their  emplacements. 

In  one  broken  building  there  were  six  of  them  firing 
through  holes  in  the  walls.  It  was  a  strong  redoubt  sweep- 
ing the  ground,  which  had  once  been  a  roadway  and  was 
now  a  shambles.     Scottish  soldiers  rushed  the  place  and 


138  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

flung  bombs  into  it  until  there  was  no  more  swish  of  bullets 
but  only  the  rising  of  smoke-clouds  and  black  dust.  Longue- 
val  was  a  heap  of  charred  bricks  above  ground,  but  there  was 
still  trouble  below  ground,  before  it  was  firmly  taken.  There 
were  many  cellars  in  which  Germans  fought  like  wolves  at 
bay.  And  down  in  the  darkness  of  these  places  men  fought 
savagely,  seeing  only  the  glint  of  each  other's  eyes,  and 
feeling  for  each  other's  throats,  unless  there  were  still 
bombs  handy  to  make  a  c^uicker  ending.  It  was  primitive 
warfare.  The  cave-men  fought  like  that,  in  such  darkness, 
though  not  with  bombs,  which  belong  to  our  age  in  this 
Christian  era  of  grace  and  civilisation. 

To  the  right  of  Longueval  and  south  of  the  second  Ger- 
man line  lies  the  Trones  Wood,  and  as  it  was  on  the  right 
flank  of  our  attack  it  could  not  be  left  in  the  enemy's  hands. 
We  had  held  most  of  it  once,  a  few  days  ago,  and  for  a  few 
hours,  but  the  enemy's  shell-fire  had  made  the  place  unten- 
able. It  was  into  that  fire  that  some  of  our  English  bat- 
talions advanced  yesterday  morning  from  Bernafay  Wood. 
'They  shelled  us  like  hell,"  said  a  boy  who  came  from  a 
quiet  place  in  Sussex  before  he  knew  what  hell  is  like. 

There  were  machine-guns  sweeping  the  southern  end  of 
the  woods  with  cross-fire,  and  with  bursting  shells  overhead 
it  was  a  place  of  black  horror  in  the  night.  But  these  Eng- 
lish boys  kept  crawling  on  to  gain  a  yard  or  two  before  the 
next  crash  came,  and  then  another  yard  or  two,  and  at  last 
they  came  up  to  the  German  line,  and  flung  themselves  sud- 
denly upon  German  machine-gunners  and  German  riflemen 
sheltered  behind  earthworks  and  trunks  of  trees.  .  .  .  The 
wood  was  captured  again,  and  then  a  queer  kind  of  miracle 
happened,  and  it  seemed  as  if  those  who  had  been  dead  had 
come  to  life  again.  For  out  of  holes  in  the  ground,  and 
from  behind  the  fallen  timbers  of  shelled  trees,  came  a  num- 
ber of  English  boys,  dirty  and  wild-looking,  who  shouted 
out,  "Hullo,  lads!"  and  "What  cheer,  matey?"  or  just 
shouted  and  laughed  with  a  sob  in  their  throats  and  big 
tears  down  their  grimy  faces.     They  were  West  Kents, 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE   139 

who  had  first  taken  the  Trones  Wood  and  then  had  been 
caught  in  a  barrage  of  fire.  With  one  officer  300  men  had 
dug  themselves  into  the  roots  of  trees" on  the  eastern  edge 
of  the  wood  ar.  i  kept  the  Germans  at  bay  with  a  machine- 
gun. 


Meanwhile  a  number  of  battalions,  mostly  English,  but 
with  some  Scots — men  who  have  done  as  well  in  this  war 
since  the  early  days  of  it  as  any  troops  who  have  fought 
in  France — were  attacking  the  line  between  Longueval  and 
the  two  Bazentins.  They,  too,  found  the  wire  uncut  in 
places,  but  they  went  through  in  a  tearing  hurry,  hating  the 
machine-gun  fire  and  resolved  to  end  it  quickly.  They 
stormed  the  German  trenches  and  fought  down  them  with 
bombs  and  bayonets.  German  soldiers  came  out  of  the  dug- 
outs and  begged  for  mercy.  They  came  holding  out  their 
watches,  their  pocket-books,  their  helmets,  anything  that 
they  thought  would  ransom  their  lives,  and  when  they  had 
been  taken  prisoners  they  made  no  trouble  about  carrying 
back  the  English  wounded,  but  were  glad  to  go.  It  was  all 
in  the  darkness,  except  when  shell-bursts  lit  the  ground,  and 
some  of  our  battalions  lost  their  sense  of  direction  towards 
Bazentin  Woods.  Prisoners  acted  as  guides  to  their  own 
lines.  Five  or  six  of  them  unwillingly  led  the  way  back. 
A  British  officer  of  nineteen,  a  boy  who  had  only  been  in 
France  a  month  or  two,  led  one  of  the  companies  forward 
because  his  brother  officers  had  fallen. 

"Come  on,  lads!"  he  shouted,  "I'm  only  a  kid,  but  I'll 
show  you  the  way  all  right." 

They  liked  those  words,  "only  a  kid,"  and  laughed  at 
them. 

"He's  a  plucked  'un,  he  is,"  said  one  of  the  men  who  fol- 
lowed him.  They  went  after  him  into  Bazentin  Wood, 
and  others  followed  on,  into  and  through  a  heavy  barrage 
of  fire. 


140  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

So  it  was  on  the  left,  where  other  battalions  were  at 
work  pressing  forward  in  waves  to  Contalmaison  Villa  and 
the  ground  beyond.  The  second  German  line  had  fallen 
before  our  men,  and  they  were  over  it  and  away. 


10 

It  was  at  about  6  o'clock  in  the  evening  that  some  British 
cavalry  came  into  action.  They  were  the  men  whom  I  had 
seen  on  my  way  up  to  the  battlefield,  a  small  detachment  of 
the  Dragoon  Guards  and  also  of  the  Deccan  Horse.  They 
worked  forward  with  our  infantry  on  a  stretch  of  country 
between  Bazentin  Wood  and  Delville  Wood,  rising  up  to 
High  Wood  (Foureaux  Wood),  and  then  rode  out  alone 
in  reconnaissance,  in  true  cavalry  formation,  with  the  com- 
mander in  the  rear.  Lord!  Not  one  in  a  thousand  would 
have  believed  it  possible  to  see  this  again.  When  they 
passed,  the  infantry  went  a  little  mad.  and  cheered  wildly 
and  joyously,  as  though  these  men  were  riding  on  a  road  of 
triumph. 

So  they  rode  on  into  open  country,  skirting  Delville 
Wood.  Presently  a  machine-gun  opened  fire  upon  them. 
It  was  in  a  cornfield,  with  German  infantry,  and  the  officer 
in  command  gave  the  word  to  his  men  to  ride  through  the 
enemy.  The  Dragoons  put  their  lances  down  and  rode 
straight  into  the  wheat.  They  killed  several  men  and  then 
turned  and  rode  back,  and  charged  again,  among  scattered 
groups  of  German  infantry.  Some  of  them  prepared  to 
withstand  the  charge  with  fixed  bayonets.  Others  were 
panic-stricken  and  ran  forward  crying  "Pity!  Pity!"  and 
clung  to  the  saddles  and  stirrup  leathers  of  the  Dragoon 
Guards.  Though  on  a  small  scale,  it  was  a  cavalry  action 
of  the  old  style,  the  first  on  the  Western  front  since  October 
of  the  first  year  of  the  war. 

With  thirty-two  prisoners  our  men  rode  on  slowly  still 
reconnoitring  the  open  country  on  the  skirt  of  Delville 
Wood,  until  they  came  again  under  machine-gun  fire  and 


THROUGH  THE  GERMAN  SECOND  LINE    141 

drew  back.  As  they  did  so  an  aeroplane  came  overhead, 
skimming  very  low,  at  no  more  than  300ft.  above  ground. 
The  cavalry  turned  in  their  saddles  to  stare  at  it  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  believing  that  it  was  a  hostile  machine.  But 
no  bullets  came  their  way,  and  in  another  moment  it  stooped 
over  the  German  infantry  concealed  in  the  wheat  and  fired 
at  them  with  a  machine-gun.  Four  times  it  circled  and 
stooped  and  fired,  creating  another  panic  among  the  enemy, 
and  then  it  flew  ofif,  leaving  the  cavalry  full  of  admiration 
for  this  daring  feat.  They  could  ride  no  further,  owing 
to  the  nature  of  the  ground,  and  that  night  they  dug  them- 
selves in.  German  guns  searched  in  vain  for  them,  and  the 
cavalry  to-night  is  full  of  pride,  believing  with  amazing 
optimism  that  their  day  may  come  again.  [It  was  after  all 
only  a  "fancy  stunt"  as  soldiers  call  it,  and  it  seems  certain 
now  that  the  cavalry  is  an  obsolete  arm  of  war  on  the 
Western  front.    The  Tanks  have  taken  their  place.] 

The  scene  all  through  the  afternoon  behind  the  battle- 
lines  and  down  in  little  villages  beyond  the  reach  of  guns 
will  stay  in  my  mind  as  historic  pictures.  Numbers  of 
wounded  men — with  a  very  high  proportion  of  lightly 
wounded  among  them — arrived  at  the  casualty  clearing  sta- 
tions and,  while  they  waited  their  turn  for  the  doctors  and 
nurses,  lay  about  the  grass,  fingering  their  souvenirs — 
watches,  shell-fuses,  helmets,  pocket-books,  German  letters, 
ajid  all  manner  of  trophies — and  telling  their  adventures  in 
that  wild  battle  of  the  night. 

They  seemed  to  have  no  sense  of  pain,  and  not  one  man 
groaned,  in  spite  of  broken  arms  and  head  wounds  and 
bayonet  thrusts.  Every  dialect  of  England  and  Scotland 
and  Ireland  could  be  heard  among  them.  There  were  men 
from  many  battalions,  and  as  they  lay  there  talking  or  smok- 
ing or  sleeping  in  the  sunlight,  other  processions  came  down 
in  straggling  columns,  limping  and  holding  on  to  comrades, 
hobbling  with  sticks,  peering  through  blood-stained  rags, 
tired  and  worn  and  weak,  but  with  a  spirit  in  them  that  was 
marvellous. 


XIV 
THE  WOODS  OF  DEATH 


I 

July  17 
We  are  again  in  the  difficult  hours  that  inevitably  follow  a 
successful  advance,  when  ground  gained  at  the  extreme  limit 
of  our  progress  has  to  be  defended  against  counter-attacks 
from  close  quarters,  when  men  in  exposed  positions  have 
to  sufifer  the  savaging  of  the  enemy's  artillery,  and  when 
our  own  gunners  have  to  work  cautiously  because  isolated 
patrols  of  men  in  khaki  may  be  mistaken  in  bad  light  for 
grey-clad  men  in  the  same  neighbourhood.  This  period  is 
the  test  of  good  generalship  and  of  good  captains. 

The  weather  was  rather  against  us  to-day.  There  was  a 
thick  haze  over  the  countryside,  causing  what  naval  men 
call  "low  visibility,"  and  making  artillery  observation  dif- 
ficult. It  was  curious  to  stand  on  high  ground  and  see  only 
the  dim  shadow-forms  of  places  like  Mametz  Wood  and 
the  other  woodlands  to  its  right  and  left,  where  invisible 
shells  were  bursting. 

Our  shells  were  passing  overhead,  and  I  listened  to  their 
high  whistling,  but  could  see  nothing  of  their  bursts,  and 
for  nearly  an  hour  an  intense  bombardment  made  a  great 
thunder  in  the  air  behind  the  thick  veil  of  mist. 

We  were  shelling  High  Wood,  from  which  our  men  have 
had  to  retire  for  a  time  owing  to  the  enemy's  heavy  barrage 
of  high  explosives,  and  we  were  also  pounding  the  enemy's 
lines  to  the  north  of  Bazentin-le-Grand  and  Longueval, 
where  he  is  very  close  to  our  men.     Hostile  batteries  were 

142 


THE  WOODS  OF  DEATH  148 

retaliating  upon  the  woodlands  which  we  have  gained  and 
held  during  the  past  three  days. 


This  woodland  fighting  has  been  as  bad  as  anything  in  this 
war — most  frightful  and  bloody.  Dead  bodies  lie  strewn 
beneath  the  trees,  and  in  the  shell-holes  are  wounded  men 
who  have  crawled  there  to  die.  There  is  hardly  any  cover 
in  which  men  may  get  shelter  from  shell-fire. 

The  Germans  had  dug  shallow  trenches,  but  they  were 
churned  up  by  our  heavies,  and  it  is  difficult  to  dig  in  again 
because  of  the  roots  of  great  trees,  and  the  fallen  timber, 
and  the  masses  of  twigs  and  foliage  which  have  been 
brought  down  by  British  and  German  guns.  When  our 
troops  went  into  Trones  Wood  under  most  damnable  fire  of 
5.9's  they  grubbed  about  for  some  kind  of  cover  without 
much  success. 

But  some  of  them  had  the  luck  to  strike  upon  three  Ger- 
man dug-outs  which  were  exceptionally  deep  and  good. 
Obviously  they  had  been  built  some  time  ago  for  officers 
who,  before  we  threatened  their  second  line,  may  have 
thought  Trones  Wood  a  fine  dwelling-place,  and  not  too  dan- 
gerous if  they  went  underground.  They  went  down  forty 
feet,  and  panelled  their  rooms,  and  brought  a  piano  down 
for  musical  evenings. 

A  young  company  commander  found  the  piano  and 
struck  some  chords  upon  it  at  a  time  when  there  was  louder 
music  overhead — the  scream  of  great  shells  and  the  inces- 
sant crash  of  high  explosives  in  the  wood.  Further  on, 
at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  our  men  found  a  machine-gun  em- 
placement built  solidly  of  cement  and  proof  against  all  shell 
splinters,  and  it  was  from  this  place  that  so  many  of  our 
men  were  shot  down  before  the  enemy's  gunners  could  be 
bombed  out. 


144  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


One  of  the  most  extraordinary  experiences  of  this  wood- 
land fighting  was  that  of  an  EngHsh  boy  who  now  lies  in  a 
field-hospital  smiling  with  very  bright  and  sparkling  eyes 
because  the  world  seems  to  him  like  Paradise  after  an  in- 
fernal dwelling-place.  He  went  with  the  first  rush  of  men 
into  Mametz  Wood,  but  was  left  behind  in  a  dug-out  when 
they  retired  before  a  violent  counter-attack. 

Some  German  soldiers  passed  this  hole  where  the  boy  lay 
crouched,  and  flung  a  bomb  down  on  the  off-chance  that  an 
English  soldier  might  be  there.  It  burst  on  the  lower  steps 
and  wounded  the  lonely  boy  in  the  dark  corner. 

He  lay  there  a  day  listening  to  the  crash  of  shells  through 
the  trees  overhead — English  shell-fire — not  daring  to  come 
out.  Then  in  the  night  he  heard  the  voices  of  his  own  coun- 
trymen, and  he  shouted  loudly. 

But  as  the  English  soldiers  passed  they  threw  a  bomb  into 
the  dug-out,  and  the  boy  was  wounded  again.  He  lay  there 
another  day,  and  the  gun-fire  began  all  over  again,  and 
lasted  until  the  Germans  came  back.  Another  German  sol- 
dier saw  the  old  hole  and  threw  a  bomb  down,  as  a  safe 
thing  to  do,  and  the  boy  received  his  third  wound. 

He  lay  in  the  darkness  one  more  day,  not  expecting  to 
live,  but  still  alive,  still  eager  to  live  and  to  see  the  light 
again.  If  only  the  English  would  come  again  and  rescue 
him! 

He  prayed  for  them  to  come.  And  when  they  came,  cap- 
turing the  wood  completely  and  finally,  one  of  them,  seeing 
the  entrance  to  the  dug-out  and  thinking  Germans  might  be 
hiding  there,  threw  a  bomb  down — and  the  boy  was 
wounded  for  the  fourth  time.  This  time  his  cries  were 
heard,  and  the  monotonous  repetition  of  this  ill-luck  ended, 
and  the  victim  of  it  lies  in  a  white  bed  with  wonderful  shin- 
ing eyes. 


THE  WOODS  OF  DEATH  145 


The  German  prisoners  have  stories  like  this  to  tell,  for 
they  suffered  worst  of  all  under  the  fury  of  our  bombard- 
ment and  the  coming  and  going  of  our  troops  in  the  wood- 
land fighting.  I  spoke  with  one  of  them  to-day — one  of  a 
new  batch  of  men,  whose  number  I  reckoned  as  300,  just 
brought  down  from  Bazentin-le-Grand. 

He  was  a  linguist,  having  been  an  accountant  in  the  North 
German  Lloyd,  and  gave  me  a  choice  of  conversation  in 
French,  Italian,  Greek  or  English.  I  chose  my  own  tongue, 
but  let  him  do  the  talking,  and  standing  there  in  a  barbed 
wire  entanglement,  surrounded  by  hundreds  of  young  Ger- 
mans, unshaven,  dusty,  haggard  and  war-worn,  but  still 
strong  and  sturdy  men.  he  described  vividly  the  horrors  of 
the  woods  up  by  the  two  Bazentins  where  he  and  these  com- 
rades of  his  had  lain  under  our  last  bombardment. 

They  had  but  little  cover  except  what  they  could  scrape 
out  beneath  the  roots  of  trees.  And  the  trees  crashed  upon 
them,  smashing  the  limbs  of  men,  and  shells  burst  and 
buried  men  in  deep  pits,  and  the  wounded  lay  groaning  under 
great  branches  which  pinned  them  to  the  ground  or  in  the 
open  where  other  shells  were  bursting.  From  what  I  can 
make  out  some  of  the  men  here  retreated  across  the  coun- 
try between  Bazentin  and  Delville  Woods,  for  they  were 
the  men  who  were  captured  by  our  cavalry. 

"My  comrades  were  afraid,"  said  this  German  sergeant. 
"They  cried  out  to  me  that  the  Indians  would  kill  their  pris- 
oners, and  that  we  should  die  if  we  surrendered.  But  I 
said,  'That  is  not  true,  comrades.  It  is  only  a  tale.  Let  us 
go  forward  very  quietly  with  our  hands  up.'  So  in  that  way 
we  went,  and  the  Indian  horsemen  closed  about  us,  and  I 
spoke  to  one  of  them,  asking  for  mercy  for  our  men,  and 
he  was  very  kind,  and  a  gentleman,  and  we  surrendered  to 
him  safely." 

He  was  glad  to  be  alive,  this  man  who  came  from  Wies- 


il46  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

baden.  He  showed  me  the  portrait  of  his  wife  and  boy,  and 
cried  a  little,  saying  that  the  German  people  did  not  make 
the  war,  but  had  to  fight  for  their  country  when  told  to  fight, 
like  other  men.  All  his  people  had  believed,  he  said,  that  the 
war  would  be  over  in  August  or  September. 

"Are  they  hungry?"  I  asked. 

"Thev  have  enough  to  eat,"  he  said.  "They  are  not  starv- 
ing." 

He  waved  his  hand  back  to  the  woodlands,  and  remem- 
bered the  terror  of  the  place  from  which  he  had  just  come. 

"Over  there  it  was  worse  than  death," 


Over  there  on  the  one  small  village  of  Bazentin-le-Grand 
our  heavy  howitzers  flung  an  amazing  quantity  of  shells  on 
Friday  morning.  The  place  was  swept  almost  flat,  and 
little  was  left  of  its  church  and  houses  but  reddish  heaps 
of  bricks  and  dust,  and  twisted  iron,  and  the  litter  of 
destruction.  Yet  there  were  many  Germans  living  here 
when  the  men  of  some  famous  regiments  came  through  in 
the  dawn  with  bayonets  and  bombs,  Yorkshiremen  and  some 
of  the  Scottish  all  mixed  together,  as  happens  at  such  times. 
There  was  one  great  cellar  underneath  Bazentin-le-Grand 
large  enough  to  hold  1500  men,  and  here,  crouching  in  its 
archways  and  dark  passages,  were  numbers  of  German 
soldiers. 

They  came  to  meet  our  men  and  surrendered  to  them. 
And  here  also  lay  many  wounded,  in  their  blood,  and  un- 
bandaged — just  as  they  had  crawled  down  from  the  ground 
above  where  our  shells  were  smashing  everything. 

If  any  man  were  to  draw  the  picture  of  those  things  or 
to  tell  them  more  nakedly  than  I  have  told  them,  because 
now  is  not  the  time,  nor  this  the  place,  no  man  or  woman 
would  dare  to  speak  again  of  war's  "glory,"  or  of  "the 
splendour  of  war,"  or  any  of  those  old  lying  phrasei  which 
hide  the  dreadful  truth. 


XV 

PRISONERS  OF  WAR 


I 

July  17 
In  spite  of  bad  weather,  which  has  hampered  operations  so 
that  no  great  advance  has  been  possible,  we  have  made  some 
progress  to-day  in  the  direction  of  Pozieres. 

Some  of  our  troops  stormed  a  double  line  of  trenches 
from  Bazentin-le-Petit  to  the  south-east  of  Pozieres,  a  dis- 
tance of  1500  yards,  strewn  from  one  end  to  the  other  with 
German  dead  and  wounded. 

High  Wood,  or  the  Bois  de  Foureaux,  as  it  is  properly 
called,  is  to  a  great  extent  No  Man's  Land,  as  lying  over 
the  crest  of  the  hill  our  men  could  be  shelled  by  the  direct 
observation  of  the  enemy's  artillery,  over  the  heads  of  their 
own  men  in  the  lower  edge  of  the  wood. 

Our  line  therefore  has  been  drawn  back  from  this  salient 
and  straightened  out  from  Longueval  to  the  long  trench  by 
Pozieres,  which  is  now  approached  on  both  sides. 

Ovillers  is  ours,  after  a  German  post  which  had  been 
bravely  defended  surrendered  with  two  officers  and  about 
140  men  early  this  morning.  There  is  no  other  news  of  im- 
portance to-day  on  the  line  of  attack,  but  it  is  good  enough, 
and  the  general  position  of  our  force  is  improved. 


What  is  the  German  point  of  view  about  our  attack  and 
the  prospects  of  the  war? 


14.8  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

That  is  the  question  I  have  always  had  in  my  head  during 
the  last  fortnight,  when  I  have  seen  batches  of  prisoners 
being  led  down  from  the  battlefields,  and  the  question  I 
have  put  to  some  of  them  in  bad  German  or  fair  English. 

It  is  difficult  to  get  any  clear  answer,  or  an  answer  of  any 
real  value.  The  men  have  just  come  out  of  dreadful  places, 
many  of  them  are  still  dazed  under  the  shock  of  shell-fire, 
some  of  them  are  proud  and  sullen,  others  are  ready  to  talk 
but  ignorant  of  the  battle-front  in  which  they  have  been  and 
of  the  situation  outside  the  dug-outs  in  which  they  crouched. 

Yet  there  is  something  to  be  learnt  out  of  their  very 
ignorance,  and  by  putting  together  answers  from  separate 
groups  of  men  and  individual  soldiers  one  does  get  a  kind  of 
hint  of  the  general  idea  prevailing  among  these  German 
troops  against  us. 

Quite  a  number  of  them  have  told  me  that  they  and  cheir 
people  were  sure  that  the  war  would  be  over  in  August  or 
September.  They  have  been  promised  that  but  could  not 
give  any  reason  for  belief  except  the  promise. 

"Do  you  think  you  are  winning?"  I  asked  one  man — of 
real  intelligence. 

"We  thought  so,"  he  answered. 

"And  now?" 

He  raised  his  hands  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  English  are  stronger  than  we  believed." 

There  seems  to  me  no  doubt  that  they  were  perfectly  con- 
fident in  the  strength  of  their  lines.  They  did  not  believe 
that  such  defences  as  those  at  Fricourt  and  Montauban 
could  ever  be  broken. 

The  new  power  of  our  artillery  has  amazed  them — they 
speak  of  it  always  with  terror — and  the  officers  especially 
admit  that  they  did  not  imagine  that  "amateur  gunners,"  as 
they  call  our  men,  could  achieve  such  results. 

For  the  courage  of  our  infantry  they  have  always  had  a 
great  respvect,  remembering  the  two  battles  of  Ypres,  but 
they  count  the  strength  of  armies  by  the  strength  of  guns, 
and  until  recent  days  knew  they  had  the  greater  power. 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  149 

The  foundations  of  their  belief  are  shaken,  but  only  to 
the  extent  that  they  admit  the  possibiHty  of  their  army 
having  to  retire  to  a  new  line  of  defence. 

I  have  not  found  one  man  speak  of  defeat.  They  are 
still  convinced  that  the  German  army  will  never  be  beaten 
to  the  point  of  surrender.  As  the  German  doctor  whom  I 
have  previously  quoted  said  to  me  a  few  days  ago,  "You 
are  strong  and  we  are  strong.  Neither  side  can  crush  the 
other.    If  the  war  goes  on  it  will  be  the  suicide  of  Europe." 

These  German  soldiers  do  not  want  it  to  go  on.  That  idea 
in  their  heads  is  clear  enough.  They  are  weary  of  war, 
and  have  a  great  craving  for  peace.  They  want  to  see  their 
wives  and  children  again.  One  strain  of  thought  creeps  out 
in  their  talk.  It  is  the  suggestion  that  they  fight  not  as  free 
men  desiring  to  fight,  but  as  men  compelled  to  fight  by  higher 
powers,  against  whom  they  cannot  rebel. 

"It  is  our  discipline,"  said  one  of  them  to-day.  "We  can- 
not help  ourselves." 

I  am  told  by  one  of  the  officers  in  charge  of  them  that 
they  talk  of  another  inevitable  war  between  Germany  and 
England  in  ten  years  from  now. 

They  have  been  taught  to  believe,  he  says,  that  we  thrust 
this  war  upon  them,  that  all  through  we  have  been  the  ag- 
gressors, and  that  Germany  will  seek  her  revenge. 


Personally,  I  have  not  heard  such  words  spoken,  but 
rather  from  several  of  these  prisoners,  a  frank  hatred  of 
war  as  the  cause  of  horrors  and  suffering  beyond  the 
strength  of  man  to  bear.  They  talk  as  men  under  an  evil 
spell  put  upon  them  by  unknown  powers  beyond  their 
reach. 

As  I  have  said,  all  this  does  not  amount  to  anything  of 
real  value  in  trying  to  see  into  the  spirit  of  the  German  peo- 
ple.   They  are  the  opinions  of  prisoners,  who  have  escaped 


150  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

from  the  worst  terrors  of  war,  but  are  immediately  cautious 
of  any  interrogation,  and  perhaps  a  little  tempted  to  say 
pleasing  things  to  their  captors.  They  cannot  conceal  their 
ignorance,  which  is  enormous,  because  all  but  victories  have 
been  hidden  from  them  until  their  own  defeat,  but  they 
conceal  their  knowledge. 

I  was  interested,  for  instance,  to  hear  them  deny  any 
great  suffering  from  hunger  in  their  own  country. 

"Our  people  have  enough  to  eat,"  said  several  of  them 
when  I  questioned  them.  When  I  told  them  of  the  letters 
captured  in  their  dug-outs,  all  full  of  pitiful  tales  about  lack 
of  food,  they  stared  at  me  with  grave  eyes,  and  said  again, 
stoutly : 

"They  have  enough  to  eat.     Bread  enough,  and  meat 

enough." 

Their  first  desire  upon  coming  from  the  battlefields  is 
water,  which  they  get  at  once,  and  their  next  is  permission 
to  write  home  to  their  people.  All  of  them  are  anxious 
to  be  sent  at  once  to  England,  where  they  expect  greater 
comforts  than  in  the  fields  with  barbed-wire  hedges,  where 
they  are  kept  on  the  way  down  until  they  can  be  en- 
trained. 

As  I  watched  them  to-day  again  I  thought  of  our  men 
who  are  prisoners,  and  of  all  the  great  sum  of  human 
misery  which  has  been  heaped  up  in  this  war.  Fortunately, 
in  our  treatment  of  prisoners  we  teach  our  enemies  a  lesson 
in  chivalry,  for  it  is  not,  I  think,  in  our  race  or  history, 
with  rare  exceptions,  to  kick  men  when  they  are  down. 


XVI 
THE  LAST  STAND  IN  OVILLERS 


I 

July  i8 
In  all  the  fighting  during  the  past  fortnight  the  struggle 
for  Ovillers  stands  out  separately  as  a  siege  in  which  both 
attack  and  defence  were  of  a  most  dogged  and  desperate 
kind. 

The  surrender  of  the  remnants  of  its  garrison  last  night 
ends  an  episode  which  will  not  be  forgotten  in  history. 
These  men  were  of  the  3rd  Prussian  Guard,  and  our  Com- 
mander-in-Chief, in  his  day's  despatch,  has  paid  a  tribute 
to  their  bravery  which  is  echoed  by  officers  and  men  who 
fought  against  them.  It  is  a  tribute  to  our  own  troops 
also,  who  by  no  less  courage  broke  down  a  stubborn  resist- 
ance and  captured  the  garrison. 

I  have  already  described  the  earlier  phases  of  the  siege ; 
the  first  attack  on  July  i,  when  our  men  broke  through  the 
outer  network  of  trenches  and  advanced  through  sheets  of 
machine-gun  fire,  suflering  heavy  casualties,  the  seizure  of 
separated  bits  of  broken  trench-work  by  little  bodies  of 
gallant  men  fighting,  independently,  gaining  ground  by  a 
yard  or  two  at  a  time  and  attacking  machine-gun  posts  and 
bombing  posts  by  hand-to-hand  fights;  the  underground 
struggle  in  great  vaulted  cellars  beneath  the  ruined  town; 
the  surprise  attack  at  night  when  a  number  of  fresh  troops 
sprang  upon  the  defences  to  the  western  side  of  the  town, 
and  then,  linking  up  with  the  men  in  the  captured  trenches 
and  ruins,  cut  the  place  in  half,  took  many  prisoners,  and 

151 


162  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

isolated  the  enemy  still  holding  out  in  the  northern  half  of 
the  position. 

Many  different  battalions  had  taken  a  share  in  the  fight- 
ing, all  had  suffered,  and  then  given  way  to  new  men  who 
knew  the  nature  of  this  business,  but  set  grimly  to  work  to 
carry  on  the  slow  process  of  digging  out  the  enemy  from 
his  last  strongholds.  It  was  almost  literally  a  work  of 
digging  out. 


The  town  of  Ovillers  does  not  exist.  It  was  annihilated 
by  the  bombardments  and  made  a  rubbish  heap  of  bricks 
and  dust.  When  our  men  were  separated  from  the  enemy 
by  only  a  yard  or  two  or  by  only  a  barricade  or  two  the  ar- 
tillery on  both  sides  ceased  fire  upon  Ovillers,  lest  the  gun- 
ners should  kill  their  own  men. 

They  barraged  intensely  round  about.  Our  shells  fell 
incessantly  upon  the  enemy's  communication  trenches  to 
the  north  and  east  so  that  the  beleaguered  garrison  should 
not  get  supplies  or  reinforcements. 

We  made  a  wall  of  death  about  them.  But  though  no 
shells  now  burst  over  the  ground  where  many  dead  lay 
strewn,  there  was  artillery  of  a  lighter  kind,  not  less  deadly. 
It  was  the  artillery  of  machine-guns  and  bombs.  The 
Prussian  Guard  made  full  use  of  the  vaulted  cellars  and 
of  the  ruined  houses. 

They  had  made  a  series  of  small  keeps,  which  they 
defended  almost  entirely  by  machine-gun  fire.  As  soon 
as  we  advanced  the  machine-guns  were  set  to  work,  and 
played  their  hose  of  bullets  across  the  ground  which  our 
men  had  to  cover.  One  by  one,  by  getting  round  about 
them,  by  working  zig-zag  ways  through  cellars  and  ruins, 
by  sudden  rushes  of  bombing  parties,  led  by  young  officers 
of  daring  spirit,  we  knocked  out  these  machine-gun  em- 
placements and  the  gunners  who  served  them,  until,  yester- 


THE  LAST  STAND  IN  OVILLERS  153 

day,  there  was  only  the  last  remnant  of  the  garrison  left  in 
Ovillers. 

These  men  of  the  3rd  Prussian  Guard  had  long  been  in 
a  hopeless  position.  They  were  starving  because  all  sup- 
plies had  been  cut  off  by  our  never-ceasing  barrage,  and 
they  had  no  water  supply,  so  that  they  suffered  all  the  tor- 
ture of  great  thirst. 

Human  nature  could  make  no  longer  resistance,  and,  at 
last,  the  officers  raised  a  signal  of  surrender,  and  came  over 
with  nearly  140  men,  who  held  their  hands  up. 

The  fighting  had  been  savage.  At  close  grips  in  the 
broken  earthworks  and  deep  cellars  there  had  been  no 
sentiment,  but  British  soldiers  and  Germans  had  flung 
themselves  upon  each  other  with  bombs  and  any  kind  of 
weapon. 

But  now,  when  all  was  ended,  the  last  of  the  German 
garrison  were  received  with  the  honours  of  war,  and  none 
of  our  soldiers  denies  them  the  respect  due  to  great  courage. 

'They  stuck  it  splendidly,"  was  the  verdict  of  one  of 
them  to-day,  and  though  there  is  no  love  lost  between  our 
army  and  the  enemy's,  it  is  good  at  least  that  we  should 
have  none  of  that  silly  contempt  for  the  foe  which  is  some- 
times expressed  by  people — ^never  by  British  soldiers — who 
unconsciously  discredit  the  valour  of  our  men  by  under- 
estimating the  courage  and  tenacity  of  those  who  fight  us. 


XVII 
THE  SCOTS  AT  LONGUEVAL 


I 

July  20 
The  present  stage  of  our  advance  is  causing  us  very  hard 
fighting  for  important  positions  on  high  ground  which 
must  be  gained  and  held  before  new  progress  over  open 
country  is  possible.  The  enemy  is  gathering  up  his  re- 
serves and  flinging  them  against  us  to  check  the  onward 
movement  at  all  costs,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  he  has 
brought  up  new  batteries  of  heavy  guns,  because  his  ar- 
tillery fire  is  increasing. 

His  prisoners  reveal  the  grave  anxiety  that  reigns  behind 
the  German  lines,  where  there  is  no  attempt  to  minimise  the 
greatness  of  our  menace.  The  enemy  is  undoubtedly  strain- 
ing every  nerve  to  organise  a  new  and  formidable  resist- 
ance. 

To-day,  however,  he  has  lost  many  men  and  valuable 
ground,  not  only  in  fighting  with  British  troops,  but  with  the 
French,  who  at  Maurepas  and  other  positions  on  our  right 
have  made  a  successful  advance. 

In  the  early  hours  of  this  morning,  after  a  long  bombard- 
ment which  made  the  night  very  dreadful  with  noise,  and 
the  sky  vivid  with  the  light  of  bursting  shells — such  a  night 
as  I  described  at  length  a  day  or  two  ago — an  attack  was 
made  by  our  troops  on  the  high  ground  between  Delville 
Wood  and  High  Wood  and  to  the  west  of  these  positions. 

The  enemy  was  in  great  strength,  and  maintained  a 
strong  defence,  but  he  suffered  severely,  and  was  forced  to. 
retreat  in  disorder  upon  some  parts  of  his  line. 

154 


THE  SCOTS  AT  LONGUEVAL  155 


A  good  deal  of  the  fighting  fell  to  south-country  boys 
who  once  followed  the  plough  and  still  have  the  English 
sky  in  their  eyes.  But  not  far  from  them  were  some  of  the 
"Harry  Lauder  lads,"  who  used  to  man  the  battlements 
of  Edinburgh  Castle  when  Rouge  Dragon  knocked  at  the 
gate  and  asked  admittance  for  the  King. 

They  had  a  bad  night — "the  worst  a  man  could  dream 
of,"  said  one  of  them,  who  had  known  other  bad  nights  of 
war.  They  lay  under  the  cross-fire  of  great  shells,  British 
and  German.  Field  batteries  were  pumping  out  shells  in  a 
great  hurry  before  breakfast  time,  but  these  were  as  noth- 
ing compared  with  the  work  of  the  heavies. 

We  were  firing  "Grandmothers"  and  "Aunties,"  those 
15-inch  and  12-inch  shells  which  go  roaring  through  the 
air  and  explode  with  vast  earth-shaking  crashes.  And  the 
enemy  was  replying  with  his  coal-scuttles. 

"They  were  the  real  Jack  Johnsons,"  said  a  Devonshire 
lad  who  had  a  piece  of  one  of  them  in  his  right  shoulder. 
"These  brutes  have  not  been  seen,  I'm  told,  since  Ypres, 
except  in  ones  or  twos.  But  they  came  over  as  thick  and 
fast  as  hand-grenades.  You  know  the  kind  of  hole  they 
make?  'Tis  forty  feet  across  and  deep  enough  to  bury  a 
whole  platoon." 

"The  din  fairly  made  me  quake,"  said  a  tall  lad  with 
the  straw-coloured  hair  one  sees  on  market  days  in  Ipswich, 
and  he  shivered  a  little  at  the  remembrance  of  the  night, 
though  the  sun  was  warm  upon  him  then. 

But  they  did  not  suffer  much  from  all  this  gun-fire  as 
they  manned  their  trenches  in  the  darkness.  The  shells 
passed  over  them,  and  few  were  hurt.  The  attack  was 
made  before  the  dawn  up  the  rising  slope  of  ground  towards 
high  roads  which  used  to  go  across  from  the  Bois  de  Fou- 
reaux,  or  High  Wood,  as  we  call  it,  to  Delville  Wood. 

Now  there  are  no  roads,  for  our  bombardment  had  torn 


156  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

up  the  earth  into  a  series  of  deep  craters.  The  Germans 
had  a  line  of  dug-outs  here,  built  in  great  haste  since  the 
first  of  July,  but  well  built. 

As  soon  as  our  men  were  upon  them,  the  German  soldiers, 
who  had  been  hiding  below  ground,  came  up  like  rabbits 
when  the  ferrets  are  at  work.  Most  of  them  ran  away,  as 
hard  as  they  could,  stumbling  and  falling  over  the  broken 
ground. 

"They  ran  so  hard,"  said  one  of  our  men,  "that  I  couldn't 
catch  up  with  'em.  It  was  a  queer  kind  of  race,  us  chasing 
'em,  and  they  running.  The  only  Germans  I  came  up  with 
were  dead  'uns." 

But  some  of  the  Germans  did  not  run.  They  came  for- 
ward through  the  half-darkness  of  this  dawn  with  their 
hands  raised.  One  Cornish  boy  I  knew  took  five  prisoners, 
who  crowded  round  him  crying  "Kamerad!"  so  that  he 
felt  like  the  old  woman  in  the  shoe. 

Up  to  that  point  our  casualties  were  very  slight,  but  later 
on,  up  the  higher  ground,  the  enemy's  machine-gim  fire 
swept  across  the  grass  and  the  brown,  bare  earth  of  the 
old  trenches,  and  above  the  high  rims  of  the  shell  craters. 
But  our  men  swept  on. 

Other  troops  were  working  round  High  Wood  on  the 
left,  and  in  the  centre  men  were  advancing  into  the  wood 
itself,  and  forcing  forward  over  the  fallen  trees  and 
branches  and  the  bodies  of  German  dead.  The  enemy's 
shells  crashed  above  them,  but  these  regiments  of  ours  were 
determined  to  get  on  and  to  hold  on,  and  during  the  day 
they  have  organised  strong  points,  and  captured  the  western 
side  and  all  the  southern  part  of  this  position. 


The  situation  at  Longueval  and  Delville  Wood,  on  the 
north-east  of  that  village,  has  been  very  full  of  trouble 
for  our  men  ever  since  these  places  were  taken  by  some  of 


THE  SCOTS  AT  LONGUEVAL  157 

our  Highland  regiments  on  July  14.  The  enemy  made  re- 
peated counter-attacks  from  the  upper  end  of  the  village, 
where  he  still  held  some  machine-gun  emplacements,  and 
kept  a  way  open  through  his  trenches  here  on  the  north  so 
that  he  could  send  up  supports  and  supplies. 

From  the  north  also  he  concentrated  heavy  artillery  fire 
on  the  southern  part  of  Delville  Wood,  which  was  held  by 
some  of  our  South  African  troops,  and  maintained  a  violent 
barrage. 

Nevertheless  the  Highlanders  have  held  on  for  nearly  a 
week  with  a  dogged  endurance  that  has  frustrated  all  the 
efforts  of  the  enemy  to  get  back  on  to  their  old  ground. 
The  gallantry  of  these  men  who  wear  the  tartans  of  the 
old  Scottish  clans  would  seem  wonderful  if  it  were  not 
habitual  with  them. 

Their  first  dash  for  Longueval  was  one  of  the  finest 
exploits  of  the  war.  They  were  led  forward  by  their  pipers, 
who  went  with  them  not  only  towards  the  German  lines 
but  across  them  and  into  the  thick  of  the  battle. 

It  was  to  the  tune  of  "The  Campbells  are  Coming"  that 
one  regiment  went  forward  and  that  music,  which  I  heard 
last  up  the  slopes  of  Stirling  Castle,  was  heard  with  terror, 
beyond  a  doubt,  by  the  German  soldiers.  Then  the  pipes 
screamed  out  the  Charge,  the  most  awful  music  to  be  heard 
by  men  who  have  the  Highlanders  against  them,  and  with 
fixed  bayonets  and  hand-grenades  they  stormed  the  Ger- 
man trenches. 

Here  there  are  many  concealed  machine-gun  emplace- 
ments, and  dug-outs  so  strong  that  no  shell  could  smash 
them.  Some  of  them  were  great  vaults  and  concreted 
chambers  of  great  depth,  where  many  Germans  could  find 
cover.  But  the  Highlanders  went  down  into  them  with 
great  recklessness,  two  or  three  men  flinging  themselves 
into  the  vaults  where  enemies  were  packed.  They  were 
scornful  of  all  such  dangers. 

I  am  told  by  one  of  their  colonels  that  in  bombing  down 
the  communication  trenches  they  threw  all  caution  to  the 


168  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

wind,  and  while  some  of  the  men  went  along  the  trenches 
others  ran  along  on  top  under  heavy  fire,  cheering  their 
comrades  on,  and  then  leaping  down  upon  the  enemy. 

The  Germans  defended  themselves  with  most  stubborn 
courage,  and  even  now,  or  at  least  as  late  as  last  night,  they 
still  serve  some  machine-guns  at  one  point,  from  which  it 
has  been  found  difficult  to  dislodge  them.  They  are  down  in 
a  concrete  emplacement,  from  which  they  can  send  out  a 
continual  spatter  of  bullets  down  the  ruined  way  of  what 
once  was  a  street. 

The  Highlanders  dug  trenches  across  the  village,  and 
had  what  they  call  in  soldiers'  language,  "a  hell  of  a  time," 
which  is  a  true  way  of  putting  it.  The  enemy  barraged  the 
village  with  progressive  lines  of  heavy  shells,  yard  by  yard, 
but  by  the  best  of  luck  his  lines  stopped  short  of  where 
some  ranks  of  Highlanders  were  lying  down  in  fours, 
using  frightful  words  to  keep  their  spirits  up.  There  were 
hours  of  bad  luck,  too,  and  one  was  when  some  of  the 
transport  men  and  horses  were  knocked  out  by  getting  into 
a  barrage.  Casualties  were  heavy  among  other  officers  and 
men,  but  the  Highlanders  held  on  with  a  wonderful  spirit. 


It  is  a  spirit  which  I  saluted  to-day  with  reverence  when  I 
met  these  men  marching  out  of  the  fire-zone.  They  came 
marching  across  broken  fields,  where  old  wire  still  lies 
tangled  and  old  trenches  cut  up  the  ground,  and  the  noise 
of  the  guns  was  about  them. 

Some  of  our  heavy  batteries  were  firing  with  terrific 
shocks  of  sound,  which  made  mule-teams  plunge  and  trem- 
ble, and  struck  sharply  across  the  thunder  of  masses  of 
guns  firing  along  the  whole  line  of  battle.  There  was  a 
thick  summer  haze  about,  and  on  the  ridges  the  black  va- 
pours of  shell-bursts,  and  all  the  air  was  heavy  with  smoke. 
It  was  out  of  this  that  tlie  Highlanders  came  marching. 


THE  SCOTS  AT  LONGUEVAL  159 

They  brought  their  music  with  them,  and  the  pipes  of  war 
were  playing  a  Scottish  love-song: 

I  lo'e  nae  laddie  but  ane, 
An'  he  lo'es  nae  lassie  but  me. 

Their  kilts  were  caked  with  mud  and  stained  with  blood 
and  filth,  but  the  men  were  beautiful,  marching  briskly, 
with  a  fine  pride  in  their  eyes.  Officers  and  men  of  other 
regiments  watched  them  pass  and  saluted  them,  as  men 
who  had  fought  with  heroic  courage,  so  that  the  dirtiest 
of  them  there  and  the  humblest  of  these  Jocks  was  a  fine 
gentleman  and  worthy  of  knighthood. 

Many  of  them  wore  German  helmets  and  grinned  beneath 
them.  Or  brawny  young  Scot  had  the  cap  of  a  German 
staff  officer  cocked  over  his  ear.  One  machine-gun  section 
brought  down  two  German  machines  besides  their  own. 
They  were  very  tired,  but  they  held  their  heads  up,  and 
the  pipers  who  had  been  with  them  blew  out  their  bags 
bravely,  though  hard  up  for  wind. 

And  the  Scottish  love-song  rang  out  across  the  fields. 
Whatever  its  words,  it  was,  I  think,  a  love-song  for  the 
dear  dead  they  had  left  behind  them. 


XVIII 
THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD 


I 

July  21 

Delville  Wood,  to  the  right  of  Longueval,  is  a  name 
marked  on  the  war-maps,  but  some  of  our  soldiers,  who 
take  Hberties  with  all  French  place-names,  giving  a  familiar 
and  homely  sound  to  words  beyond  the  trick  of  their 
tongues,  call  this  "The  Devil's  Wood." 

It  is  a  reasonable  name  for  it.  It  is  a  devilish  place, 
which  has  been  a  death-trap  to  both  the  German  and 
British  troops  who  have  held  it  in  turns,  or  parts  of  it.  It 
is  here,  and  in  High  Wood  to  the  north-west  of  it,  that  the 
fighting  continues  hotly.  Last  night  and  to-day  the  north- 
ern end  was  under  the  fire  of  our  guns,  the  southern  end 
under  German  fire,  and  somewhere  about  the  centre  the 
opposing  infantry  is  entrenched  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
dig  in  such  a  place. 

The  German  soldiers  have  the  advantage  in  defence. 
They  have  placed  their  machine-guns  behind  barricades  of 
great  tree-trunks,  hidden  their  sharpshooters  up  in  the 
foliage  of  trees  still  standing  above  all  the  litter  of  branches 
smashed  down  by  shrapnel  and  high  explosives,  and  send  a 
patter  of  bullets  across  to  our  men,  who  have  dug  holes 
for  themselves  below  the  tough  roots. 

There  is  no  need  for  either  side  to  do  any  wood-chop- 
ping for  the  building  of  their  barricades.  Great  numbers 
of  trees  have  fallen,  cut  clean  in  half  by  heavy  shells,  and 
lie  across  each  other  in  the  tangle  of  brushwood.  Branches 
have  been  lopped   off  or  torn   off,  and   are  piled  up  as 

j6o 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  161 

though  for  a  bonfire.  The  broken  trunks  stick  up  in  a 
ghastly  way,  stripped  of  their  bark,  and  enormous  roots  to 
which  the  earth  still  clings  have  been  torn  out  of  the  ground 
as  though  by  a  hurricane,  and  stretch  their  tentacles  out 
above  deep  pits. 

The  wood  is  strewn  with  dead,  and  wounded  men  are  so 
caught  in  the  jungle  of  fallen  branches  that  they  can  hardly 
crawl  through  it.  Even  the  unwounded  have  to  crawl  on 
their  way  forward  to  fight,  over,  or  underneath,  the  great 
trunks  which  lie  across  the  tracks. 

The  gallant  South  Africans  who  were  here  could  not  dig 
quickly  enough  to  get  cover  from  the  shells  which  the 
enemy's  guns  pumped  into  the  wood  as  soon  as  our  men 
had  gained  it,  and  found  it  very  hard  to  dig  at  all,  but  now, 
I  hope,  our  troops  are  more  secure  from  shell-fire  and  the 
enemy  is  suffering  severely  from  our  bombardment.  His 
machine-guns  chatter  through  the  day  and  night  from  one 
or  two  strong  emplacements,  and  our  men,  lying  behind 
their  own  stockades,  effectively  reply.  In  the  twilight  of 
"The  Devil's  Wood"  the  struggle  goes  on,  but  gradually  we 
are  enclosing  the  place  and  the  Germans  in  it  are  not  there 
for  long. 

2 

July  27 
At  about  ten  o'clock  this  morning  our  troops  again  took 
Delville  Wood — all  but  a  narrow  strip  on  the  north — and 
perhaps  it  is  the  last  time  that  it  will  be  necessary  to  send 
men  to  the  assault  of  this  evil  position  which  has  earned 
the  nickname  of  "Devil's  Wood"  from  soldiers  who  have 
been  through  it  and  out  of  it. 

As  one  of  our  officers  said  to  me  this  morning,  "I  wish  to 
goodness  we  could  wipe  the  place  off  the  map,  or  burn  it  off. 
A  good  forest  fire  there  would  cleanse  the  ground  of  this 
filthy  wreckage  of  trees  which  has  been  a  death-trap  to  so 
many  good  fellows." 

It  is  a  queer  thing  that  so  many  trees  are  still  standing, 


162  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

and  that  it  still  looks  like  a  wood  as  I  saw  it  the  other  day 
when  the  enemy  was  barraging  this  side  of  it.  In  spite  of 
all  the  trees  that  have  been  cut  down  by  shells  the  foliage 
still  looks  dense  at  a  distance  and  hides  all  the  horror  under- 
neath. 

To-day  many  more  trees  have  been  slashed  off  and  hurled 
upon  other  fallen  trunks.  If  the  wood  had  been  drier  the 
forest  fire  would  have  blazed.  I  am  told  that  our  concen- 
tration of  guns  for  this  morning's  bombardment  secured 
the  most  intense  series  of  barrages  upon  one  position  since 
the  battle  of  Picardy  began  twenty-seven  days  ago;  twice 
as  heavy  as  any  similar  artillery  attack. 

The  bombardment  began  this  early  morning,  and  took 
line  after  line  from  south  to  north  above  the  ground  held 
by  our  men,  in  progressive  blocks  of  fire.  Our  batteries 
over  an  area  of  several  miles,  from  the  long-range  heavies 
to  the  i8-pounders  far  forward,  flung  every  size  of  shell 
into  this  "Devil's  Wood,"  and  filled  it  with  high  explosives 
and  shrapnel  so  that  one  great  volume  of  smoke  rose  from 
it  and  covered  it  in  a  dense  black  pall. 

It  seems  impossible  that  any  Germans  there  could  still  be 
left  alive,  but  it  is  too  soon  yet  to  know  whether  our  men 
foimd  any  of  them  crouching  in  holes  or  lying  under  the 
shelter  of  great  trunks  and  roots.  Perhaps  a  few  German 
soldiers  may  come  out  from  this  place  of  death  having  es- 
caped by  what  seems  like  a  miracle,  except  that  every  day 
men  do  escape  in  the  strangest  way  from  shells  which  burst 
above  them  and  under  them  and  around  them. 

But  there  will  not  be  many  who  may  tell  the  tale  of  this 
morning's  bombardment  of  the  wood,  for  the  enemy  has 
not  had  time  to  make  an  elaborate  system  of  dug-outs  here, 
deep  enough  to  protect  them  from  6-inch  or  8-inch  shells, 
but  had  no  more  cover  than  our  own  men  who  held  the 
wood  when  it  was  the  turn  of  the  enemy's  artillery. 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  168 


I  was  talking  to  some  of  these  men  this  morning,  and 
they  all  had  the  same  tale  to  tell.  "Devil's  Wood,"  said  one 
of  them — a  shock-headed  Peter  in  shorts,  who  had  not  lost 
his  sense  of  humour,  though  a  good  deal  of  blood,  up  there 
— "this  Delville  Wood,  as  it  is  called  politely  by  fellows 
who  don't  know  the  look  of  it  or  the  smell  of  it,  is  easily 
the  worst  place  on  earth,  as  far  as  I  can  guess. 

"It's  just  crowded  with  corpses,  and  to  stay  there  is  to 
join  that  company.  The  only  cover  one  can  get  is  to  crawl 
under  a  log  and  hope  for  the  best,  or  crawl  into  a  shell- 
hole  and  expect  the  worst — which  generally  arrives.  I  had 
the  devil's  own  luck — a  puncture  of  the  left  leg — so  I  can't 
walk  back  there." 

He  was  amazed  to  have  come  out  so  easily,  and  because 
he  still  had  life,  and  could  see  the  sun  shining  through  the 
flap  of  a  tent,  he  was  in  high  spirits,  like  all  our  men  who 
have  had  the  luck  to  get  a  "cushie  wound,"  which  in  this 
war  is  the  best  of  luck  to  men  in  such  places  as  "Devil's 
Wood." 

The  other  men  were  eloquent  about  the  German  snipers 
who  were  hidden  in  the  foliage  of  trees  with  rifles  and 
machine-guns  and  waited  very  patiently  until  any  of  our 
men  began  to  crawl  through  the  tree  trunks.  That  game 
is  finished.  Our  bombardment  this  morning  must  have 
swept  away  all  such  men  with  whatever  weapon  they  had. 

Devil's  Wood  has  become  more  crowded  with  dead,  and 
it  is  over  these  bodies  that  our  men  stumbled  this  morning 
when  they  went  forward  slowly  and  cautiously  behind  the 
great  barrage  of  our  guns  which  cleared  the  way  for  them. 
They  advanced  in  waves,  halting  while  another  barrage  was 
maintained  for  half  an  hour  or  more  ahead.  They  had 
to  cross  Princes-street,  which  was  a  sunken  road  made  into 
something  like  a  trench  by  the  South  Africans,  and  after- 


164  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

wards  by  Scots  from  home,  striking  across  the  glades  from 
west  to  east,  and  then  they  pushed  northwards. 

I  have  no  details  of  the  fighting,  which  is  still  in  progress, 
but  it  is  probable  that  the  attack  has  succeeded  without 
many  casualties.  It  is  in  holding  the  ground  that  the  worst 
time  comes  to  the  men  who  capture  it. 


Meanwhile  another  attack  has  been  made  this  morning, 
advancing  eastwards  to  Delville  Wood  from  Longueval, 
which  is  partly  in  and  partly  out  of  the  wood,  with  the 
object  of  clearing  out  the  enemy  from  the  northern  part 
of  the  village  and  joining  up  with  the  men  advancing  into 
the  wood  from  the  south,  as  I  have  just  described. 

Here,  again,  not  much  more  of  the  fighting  is  known,  but 
we  know  the  difficulties  of  the  position,  and  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  hardest  fighting  has  been  happening  here. 
The  history  of  the  fight  that  has  gone  on  in  this  corner  of 
ground  since  July  14  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  things, 
for  sheer  stubborn  courage,  that  has  been  done  in  all  this 
great  battle. 

The  Scottish  troops  who  first  took  Longueval,  as  I  have 
described  in  a  previous  despatch,  held  part  of  the  village  in 
spite  of  heavy  counter-attacks  and  incessant  bombardments 
while  the  South  Africans  were  in  the  adjoining  wood  of 
devilish  fame. 

The  home-grown  Scots  had  a  trench — a  poor  thing,  but 
still  called  a  trench — running  from  east  to  west  at  the  south 
end  of  the  village,  and  two  parallel  roads  going  out  of  this 
trench  northwards  through  the  ruins  of  the  village. 

There  were  barricades  up  these  two  roads  held  by  the 
Scots  with  machine-guns,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
barricade,  the  roads  were  No  Man's  Land  leading  to  the 
enemy,  who  were,  and  still  remain,  in  bits  of  copse  and 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  165 

ruined  gardens  and  old  orchards,  with  their  own  machine- 
guns  protected  by  strong  emplacements. 

The  Scots  had  a  severe  time,  under  almost  continuous 
fire,  and  lost  heavily.  At  night  they  were  attacked  from  the 
orchard  land  by  parties  of  German  bombers,  who  advanced 
with  desperate  courage  although  swept  back  again  and 
again  by  rifles  and  machine-guns  and  hand-grenades. 
Meanwhile  the  South  Africans  were  being  shelled  to  death 
in  Delville  Wood  close  by,  and,  as  I  have  already  told,  the 
poor  remnants  of  them  were  withdrawn. 

The  troops  in  Longueval  were  replaced  by  others,  who 
succeeded  in  clearing  the  enemy  out  of  part  of  the  orchard 
and  capturing  some  of  his  machine-guns,  but  not  enough  to 
"clean  up"  this  position,  which  was  still  very  dangerous. 
It  was  another  battalion  of  Scottish  troops,  together  with 
English  boys  of  the  New  Army,  who  captured  Waterlot 
Farm,  running  down  south-eastwards  from  Delville  Wood, 
and  made  two  or  three  very  gallant  attempts  to  get  as  far 
as  Guillemont,  and  on  July  22  another  part  of  Longueval 
was  taken  a  third  time  by  these  fine  men,  whose  general  has 
trained  them  to  attack  and  to  go  on  attacking. 


Delville  Wood  proved  the  stumbling  block  again.  One 
young  officer  who  was  wounded  here  yesterday  told  me  that 
he  could  get  no  kind  of  cover  where  he  lay  with  his  men 
at  the  edge  of  Delville  Wood  and  on  the  outskirts  of  Lon- 
gueval. All  night  long  there  was  the  swish  of  machine- 
gun  bullets  above  him,  varied  with  shrapnel  and  bits  of 
high  explosive. 

He  has  only  been  out  in  France  a  fortnight,  and  two 
days  ago  came  straight  to  the  "Devil's  Wood/'  into  the 
heart  of  Inferno. 

On  his  first  day  he  was  surprised  to  come  face  to  face 
with  a  German  soldier.     The  young  officer  had  been  given 


166  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

orders  to  push  out  a  patrol  down  a  sap  or  shallow  trench 
to  reconnoitre  the  position  of  the  enemy.  He  had  not  gone 
many  yards  before  he  met  the  enemy — a  tall  fellow  in  a 
steel  helmet,  followed  by  forty  others. 

There  was  surprise  on  both  sides  and  considerable  alarm, 
but  the  English  boy  was  first  in  with  a  revolver  shot.  He 
thinks  now  that  he  made  a  mistake  because  the  Germans 
made  no  attack  upon  him  and  ran  back  into  the  wood,  so 
that  it  is  likely  enough  they  had  come  forward  to  surrender, 
as  a  means  of  escape  from  our  shell-fire. 

Our  lieutenant  came  back  to  report,  dodging  snipers  who 
"potted"  at  him  from  several  directions,  and  then  lying  in 
a  ditch  until  a  fragment  of  shell  caught  him. 

"Longueval  is  the  very  devil,"  says  this  subaltern  with 
two  days'  experience  of  war — and  enough  too.  "With 
Delville  Wood  on  its  right  it's  not  a  healthy  neighbourhood. 
But  of  course  Brother  Boche  is  getting  it  in  the  neck  all  the 
time,  so  he  can't  be  pleased  with  his  position." 

To-day  there  are  other  men  attacking  the  same  position, 
up  against  the  same  difficulties,  subject  to  the  same  fire. 

Those  who  went  before  them  have  gained  the  immor- 
tality of  history — a  poor  reward,  perhaps,  for  great  strug- 
gles and  great  suffering,  but  theirs,  whatever  the  value  of  it, 
for  all  time,  when  the  secrets  of  the  war  are  told. 

The  men  who  are  now  in  are  of  the  same  breed,  and 
will  not  fail  for  lack  of  courage,  but  as  I  write  the  guns  are 
firing  with  a  great  tumult  of  noise  over  there,  and  new  his- 
tory is  in  the  making  so  that  it  cannot  yet  be  known. 


6 

July  29 
I  have  already  described  in  a  previous  despatch  the  great 
difficulties  that  have  confronted  our  men  in  Longueval  and 
Delville  Wood,  and  I  left  off  my  last  narrative  at  a  time 
when  our  troops  were  making  a  strong  attack  upon  both  of 
those  positions — the  battalions  on  the  left  endeavouring 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  167 

to  clear  the  enemy  from  the  north  of  Longueval,  where  they 
had  machine-gun  redoubts,  and  those  on  the  right  working 
up  from  the  south  through  Delville  Wood. 

The  infantry  advanced  stage  by  stage  behind  our  shell- 
fire — a  very  simple  thing  to  write  or  read,  but  not  at  all  a 
simple  matter  to  troops  walking  under  the  hurricane  of 
shells  and  depending  for  their  lives  upon  the  scientific  ac- 
curacy of  gunners  calculating  their  range  and  their  time- 
fuses a  long  way  behind  the  lines,  and  unable  to  see  the 
infantry  advancing  to  attack. 

"It  was  queer  to  see  the  shells  bursting  in  front  of  one," 
said  a  bright-eyed  fellow,  who  had  just  come  out  of  "Devil 
Wood"  with  a  lucky  wound.  "The  line  of  them  was  just 
about  seventy-five  yards  ahead  of  us,  flinging  up  the  ground 
and  smashing  everything.  It  was  wonderful  how  the  gun- 
ners kept  it  just  ahead  of  us." 

Our  men  did  not  go  through  Delville  Wood  in  one  of 
those  fine  cheering  rushes  which  are  drawn  sometimes  by 
imaginative  artists,  and  sometimes,  but  not  often,  happen. 
They  went  in  scattered  groups,  keeping  touch,  but  in  ex- 
tended order  and  scrambling,  stumbling,  or  crawling  for- 
ward as  best  they  could,  in  a  place  which  had  no  clear 
track. 

There  were  not  two  yards  of  ground  without  a  shell  hole. 
Fallen  trees  and  brushwood  made  a  tangled  maze.  Old 
barricades  smashed  by  shell  fire  and  shallow  trenches 
scraped  up  by  men  who  had  been  digging  their  own  graves 
at  the  same  time  made  obstacles  and  pitfalls  everywhere. 
Our  men,  heavily  loaded  with  their  fighting  kits,  with 
bombs  slung  about  them,  and  with  their  bayonets  fixed, 
could  not  go  forward  at  a  bound  through  this  infernal 
wood. 

This  woo'd  had  been  taken  four  times  by  four  waves  of 
British  troops.  It  had  been  retaken  four  times  by  four 
waves  of  German  troops.  It  had  been  the  dumping  place 
of  the  artillery's  most  furious  bombardments  on  both  sides, 


168  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

so  that  these  EngHsh  boys  of  ours  were  advancing  through 
a  great  graveyard  of  unburied  dead. 

The  ghasthness  of  the  place  has  left  its  mark  upon  the 
minds  of  many  men  who  are  not  troubled  much  by  the 
sights  of  battle.  I  notice  that  some  of  them  wince  at  the 
name  of  Delville  Wood,  and  others — the  officers  mostly — 
laugh  in  a  way  that  is  not  good  to  hear,  because  it  is  the 
laughter  of  men  who  realise  the  great  gulf  of  irony  that 
lies  between  the  decent  things  of  life  and  all  this  devildom. 


When  our  men  advanced  they  were  surprised  to  see  men 
running  away  through  the  broken  trees,  and  astonished, 
also,  to  see  bits  of  white  rag  fluttering  above  some  of  the 
shell-holes.  These  white  rags,  tied  to  twigs,  bobbed  up  and 
down  or  waved  to  and  fro  as  signals.  It  was  the  white 
flag  of  surrender,  held  by  German  soldiers  crouched  at  the 
bottom  of  the  shell  craters.  From  one  of  them  a  Red 
Cross  flag  waved  in  a  frantic  way. 

Our  men  went  forward  with  their  bayonets,  and  shouted 
"Come  out  of  it,  there!"  and  from  each  shell-hole  came  a 
German  soldier,  holding  his  hands  up,  and  crying  "Pity! 
Pity!"  which  is  a  word  they  seem  to  have  learnt  in  case  of 
need. 

"Some  of  them  were  so  small  and  young,"  said  a  man 
who  was  fighting  in  this  part  of  the  wood,  "that  their  uni- 
forms were  much  too  big  for  them  and  their  tunics  came 
down  to  their  knees." 

They  were  exceptional  in  youth  and  size,  for  all  the 
prisoners  I  have  seen  since  the  beginning  of  our  attack  are 
tall,  strapping  fellows  of  the  best  fighting  age ;  but  it  is 
possible  that  our  men  have  come  up  against  some  of  the 
19 1 6  class.  When  the  English  poked  their  bayonets  at 
them,  but  not  into  them,  they  fell  on  their  knees  and  cried 
for  mercy. 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  169 

It  was  mercy  asked  and  given  at  a  time  when  our  sol- 
diers were  angry,  for  the  enemy  was  firing  a  large  num- 
ber of  gas-shells. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  a  good  deal  of  the  ground  to  the 
north  of  Longueval  had  been  captured  by  very  fierce  fight- 
ing at  close  quarters  in  and  about  the  orchard,  where  the 
enemy  had  machine-gun  emplacements  and  a  strong  redoubt 
called  Machine-gun  House.  Here  they  defended  them- 
selves stubbornly  behind  barricades  of  broken  bricks  and 
fallen  tree  trunks  and  barbed  wire,  serving  their  guns  in  a 
deadly  way. 

Several  of  our  officers  behaved  with  the  utmost  gal- 
lantry and  led  forward  many  bombing  parties  to  the  at- 
tack of  the  machine-gun  emplacements,  from  which  there 
came  a  continual  swish  of  bullets.  Our  men  were  quite 
reckless  in  taking  all  risks,  and  made  repeated  attacks  on 
this  position  left  of  Delville  Wood  until  they  captured  or 
knocked  out  several  of  the  machine-guns  which  had  given 
most  trouble. 

8 

In  the  meantime  the  troops  on  the  right  were  gradually 
pushing  their  way  up  to  the  top  of  the  wood,  past  Princes- 
street  (an  old  trench  dug  by  the  Scots,  and  now  battered 
out  of- shape  by  the  morning's  bombardment),  and  across 
a  line  of  dug-outs  made  by  the  enemy — and  very  well  made 
in  the  time.  They  are  master  diggers,  the  Germans,  and 
they  have  the  industry  of  ants.  It  is  sometimes  an  industry 
inspired  by  fear;  but,  after  all,  fear  is  often  the  wisdom 
of  defence,  and  in  this  case  they  fought  longer  because 
by  night  and  day  they  had  toiled  to  get  shell-proof  cover 
into  which  death  could  not  enter  easily. 

Some  men  of  ours  who  were  first  to  go  into  those  dug- 
outs tell  me  that  they  were  as  deep  as  those  they  had  seen 
in  parts  of  the  line  where  Germans  have  had  months  for 
their  work.     They  had  plenty  of  head  cover,  of  timber 


170  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

balks  and  sandbags  and  earth,  and  inside  them  was  room  for 
twenty  men  or  more. 

When  our  men  came  through  the  trees  to  them  there 
were  two  officers  sitting  outside  as  though  at  a  cottage 
doorway,  and  they  seemed  quite  calm,  except  for  their 
extreme  pallor. 

They  were  both  wounded,  but  not  badly,  and  it  is  our 
men's  idea  that  they  had  come  to  sit  in  the  open  in  case 
they  should  be  buried  alive  in  the  dug-outs  by  direct  hits 
from  our  heavy  shells.  They  rose,  and  showed  their 
wounds,  and  surrendered. 

Some  of  our  men  went  into  the  mouths  of  the  dug-outs, 
and  cautiously,  with  their  bombs  handy,  down  the  dark 
steps.  There  were  forms  huddled  up  in  that  narrow  stair- 
way, and  they  groaned  at  the  touch  of  boots.  They  were 
badly  wounded  men,  who  had  staggered  down  to  get  shelter 
and  medical  aid.  Down  below,  in  rooms  about  ten  feet 
square  and  almost  dark,  were  other  wounded  men  lying 
about  in  their  own  blood. 

A  lantern  hanging  on  a  nail  in  one  of  these  places  gave 
a  dim  flicker  of  light  to  the  scene,  and  showed  the  white, 
unshaven  faces  of  the  men  who,  as  our  young  soldiers  came 
tramping  and  stumbling  down,  raised  their  heads,  but  had 
no  strength  to  stand  up.  Two  or  three  men,  unwounded, 
or  only  slightly  wounded,  came  forward  with  their  hands 
held  up  a  little,  and  bowed  their  heads  as  they  muttered 
something  which  meant  surrender. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  enemy  made  a  counter-attack 
upon  the  left  of  the  wood  and  to  the  north  of  Longueval 
village.  At  the  same  time  their  artillery  had  received  word 
somehow,  by  fugitives,  that  the  wood  was  full  of  English, 
and  that  they  could  shell  it  without  killing  many  of  their 
own  men.  German  "crumps"  now  began  to  crash  through 
the  trees,  and  a  counter-bombardment  of  high  explosives  fell 
into  the  cratered  earth. 

The  attack  by  German  infantry  was  made  by  strong  par- 
ties of  grenadiers,  who  came  down  saps  above  Longueval 


THE  DEVIL'S  WOOD  171' 

and  from  a  communication  trench  between  Delville  Wood 
and  High  Wood.  They  came  on  with  great  resolution, 
followed  by  machine-gunners,  but  they  were  received  with 
rifle  fire,  bombs,  and  machine-gun  fire  from  our  own  men. 

Some  parties  managed  to  work  their  way  back  into  the 
orchard,  and  through  the  scattered  trees  a.j  ut  it,  and  there 
was  some  close  and  desperate  fighting,  for  a  time  our  men 
in  one  of  the  battalions  were  short  of  bombs,  and  sent  back 
urgent  messages  for  new  supplies. 

"We  had  been  hanging  on  to  them,"  said  one  of  the 
boys,  "because  it's  always  well  to  save  them  for  a  tight 
place,  but  of  course  we  sent  them  up  to  the  chaps  in  front." 
It  was  timely  help,  and  all  the  German  efforts  to  dislodge 
our  men  broke  down  with  heavy  loss,  so  that  the  ground 
was  strewn  with  their  dead  and  wounded. 

Many  Germans  were  seen  retreating  over  the  high 
ground  above  Delville  Wood,  to  the  left.  Parties  of  them 
ran  along  the  sky-line,  and  then  seemed  to  drop  into  a 
sunken  road. 

So  Delville  Wood  is  ours  again — and  it  is  again  under 
the  fire  of  German  guns  instead  of  British  guns,  and  the 
trouble  is  to  know  whether  it  is  possible  for  either  side  to 
hold  such  a  place  without  too  great  a  sacrifice  of  life.  It  is 
easier  to  hold  now  that  the  ground  to  the  north  of  Longue- 
val  and  in  the  western  corner  of  the  wood  has  been  cleared 
of  its  hornets'  nests — those  hiding-places  of  machine-gun- 
ners who  were  able  to  send  waves  of  bullets  upon  our  ad- 
vancing men. 

That  trouble,  anyhow,  is  gone,  and  the  enemy  feels  the 
loss,  because  several  new  counter-attacks  last  night  failed 
as  completely  as  those  made  earlier.  They  were  our  ma- 
chine-guns which  met  them  in  their  old  haunts,  and  made 
them  pay  back  a  heavy  price  for  the  toll  they  had  taken 
before. 


XIX 

THE  WORK  OF  THE  GUNS 


I 

July  24 
More  ground  has  been  gained  to-day  at  Pbzieres  and  the 
AustraHans  after  their  first  great  assault  before  dawn  yes- 
terday have  been  pushing  across  the  Bapaume  Road,  which 
goes  through  the  town,  and  bombing  out  the  German  ma- 
chine-gunners and  holding  parties  on  the  western  side,  so 
that  not  many  enemies  are  left  among  the  ruins  or  under- 
ground in  Pozieres  itself.  There  is  higher  ground  beyond, 
towards  the  Windmill,  and  further  north,  for  which  a  fight 
will  have  to  be  made  before  the  key  of  the  position  is  really 
captured,  but  the  advance  of  English  regiments  on  the  left  is 
a  menace  to  the  enemy  which  must  cause  him  grave  anxiety. 
The  line  has  also  been  thrust  forward  a  little  by  a  series  of 
posts  and  joined  up  with  positions  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  High  Wood,  where  the  enemy  is  again  bombarding  heav- 
ily, so  that  no  further  progress  has  been  made  in  this  direc- 
tion during  the  day. 

One  curious  incident  was  observed  here  by  the  troops 
holding  the  ground  on  the  south  of  High  Wood.  They  sud- 
denly noticed  a  body  of  men  coming  out  of  the  glades,  and 
were  surprised  to  see  that  they  were  in  kilts. 

For  a  moment  it  may  have  occurred  to  them  that  they 
were  some  of  the  wounded  Scots  who  had  fought  through 
High  Wood  a  few  days  previously.  That  could  hardly 
be  possible,  however,  because  the  enemy  is  in  strong  num- 
bers in  the  upper  part  of  the  wood.  An  officer  staring 
through  his  glasses  uttered  a  word  of  astonishment  and  two 

172 


THE  WORK  OF  THE  GUNS  173 

of  anger.  The  men  on  the  sky-line  were  Germans  dressed 
up  in  kilts  taken  from  the  dead.  Our  guns  put  some  shells 
over  them,  and  they  disappeared  below  the  ridge. 

For  the  past  few  days  the  increasing  strength  of  the 
enemy's  artillery,  especially  of  heavy  guns,  has  been  notice- 
able, and  he  has  been  firing  at  longer  range,  and  rather 
wildly  "into  the  blue"  in  order  to  make  things  uncom- 
fortable behind  our  lines. 

Owing  to  the  great  superiority  of  our  observation  and 
the  complete  failure  of  his  own  aircraft — our  anti-aircraft 
guns  have  hardly  been  called  upon  to  fire  a  round  during 
the  last  few  weeks — he  is  wasting  a  great  deal  of  heavy 
ammunition.  This  is  different  from  earlier  days  of  the 
battle  when  the  German  gunners  had  to  concentrate  their 
fire  upon  very  definite  points  of  attack,  and  were  completely 
mastered  in  many  of  their  positions  by  the  immensity  of 
our  bombardment. 


The  work  of  our  artillery  Is  a  wonderful  achievement, 
and  all  the  success  we  have  gained  during  this  great  battle 
has  been  largely  due  to  the  science  and  daring  of  our  gun- 
ners and  to  the  labour  of  all  those  thousands  of  men  at 
home  who  have  sweated  in  soul  and  body  to  make  the  guns 
and  the  ammunition. 

It  is  only  just  and  fair  to  the  munition  workers  to  say 
this  thing  and  to  let  them  know  that  their  toil  has  helped 
enormously  to  break  the  German  lines,  and  that  without 
their  untiring  effort  all  the  courage  of  our  soldiers,  all  their 
sacrifice  of  blood  would  have  been  in  vain.  If  they  slacken 
ofif  now  in  the  factories  and  workshops  these  men  of  ours 
in  places  like  High  Wood  and  Longueval  and  Pozieres  will 
no  longer  have  the  support  that  is  most  desperately  needed 
now  that  the  enemy  is  bringing  up  many  new  batteries 
against  us. 

Flesh  and  blood  cannot  fight  against  high  explosives.    It 


174  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

can  only  die,  and  the  whole  history  of  the  battle  is  not  to  be 
written  in  reference  to  bayonets  or  rifles  but  to  guns.  It  has 
been,  and  is  still,  a  battle  of  guns,  and  our  heroic  infantry 
has  only  been  able  to  get  forward  or  to  hold  its  ground 
when  the  artillery  preparation  has  been  complete,  and  the 
artillery  support  overwhelmingly  strong.  Should  this  fail 
it  would  not  be  fighting,  but  massacre. 

From  the  early  days  of  the  battle  onwards  our  artillery 
has  been  great,  in  weight  of  metal,  in  science,  in  the  vast- 
ness  of  its  supplies  of  shells,  in  the  superb  courage  and  skill 
of  its  men,  who  have  endured  a  continuous  strain  upon  them 
night  and  day,  for  four  weeks.  They  broke  the  German 
spirit  and  the  German  strength  to  the  point  when  our  in- 
fantry could  attack  with  something  like  a  chance,  almost 
for  the  first  time  in  this  war  along  the  British  front. 

By  the  work  of  aviators  and  artillery  observation  officers 
we  knew  the  positions  of  most  of  the  enemy's  batteries  and 
the  geography  of  all  his  communication  trenches,  transport 
roads,  and  supply  depots.  Our  guns  which  had  been 
brought  up  secretly  were  unmasked  one  morning  when  the 
great  bombardment  began  before  the  battle,  and  poured  un- 
ceasing shells  upon  all  those  positions,  smothering  them 
with  high  explosives  and  shrapnel,  while  the  field  guns 
closer  up  were  cutting  the  enemy's  wire. 

Trenches  were  swept  out  of  existence,  batteries  were 
blown  to  bits — I  have  seen  many  of  those  broken  German 
guns  now  standing  as  trophies  on  French  lawns — and  the 
roads  were  swept  by  storms  of  death.  The  barrage  was  a 
great  wall  through  which  nothing  could  pass.  The  Ger- 
man soldiers  in  their  lines  could  get  neither  food  nor  water. 
No  reinforcements  could  be  sent  to  them. 


Three  of  our  own  soldiers  who  were  taken  prisoners  on 
the  morning  of  the  first  attack  could  not  be  sent  back  into 


THE  WORK  OF  THE  GUNS  175 

the  German  lines  because  no  escort  dared  to  go  with  them 
through  the  barrage.  They  were  thrust  down  into  a  dug- 
out with  some  of  the  German  soldiers  and  saw  and  suffered 
the  effect  of  our  fire.  The  enemy  had  no  food  to  give  them, 
having  none  for  themselves,  and  they  were  tortured  by 
thirst. 

For  five  days  they  endured  this  until  nearly  dead,  but 
when  the  Germans  were  to  dazed  to  act  as  guards, 
these  three  English  soldiers  managed  to  crawl  out  of  the 
dug-out  and  by  a  miracle  of  luck  escaped  back  to  their 
own  lines  over  No  Man's  Land. 


A  German  officer,  now  one  of  our  prisoners,  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  work  of  our  gunners.  He  was  sent  with  his 
battalion  from  Verdun  to  Contalmaison  and  was  detrained 
at  Bapaume.  There  he  began  a  painful  experience  of  shell- 
fire  through  an  accident  to  one  of  the  German  12 -inch 
guns,  which  burst  and  blew  up  several  carriages  of  the 
train  killing  some  of  his  men.  But  the  rest  of  his  journey 
was  made  terrible  by  British  gun-fire.  With  his  battalion 
he  came  down  a  road  which  was  being  flung  up  by  our  15- 
inch  and  12-inch  guns.  Some  more  of  his  men  were  killed, 
and  he  came  on  towards  Bazentin,  where  he  was  under 
the  fire  of  our  8-inch  howitzers  and  nine-point-twos.  More 
of  his  men  were  killed,  but  he  went  on  until  near  Contal- 
maison he  came  within  the  range  of  our  i8-pounders  and 
lost  the  remainder  of  his  men.  At  Contalmaison  he  was 
immediately  taken  prisoner  by  our  attack  and  was  rejoiced 
to  come  to  his  journey's  end  alive. 

"Your  artillery,"  he  said,  "is  better  than  anything  I  had 
seen  before,  even  at  Verdun,  and  worse  than  anything  I  had 
suffered." 

All  the  German  officers  with  whom  I  have  spoken  are 
surprised  that  an  "Army  of  Amateurs,"  as  they  call  us, 


176  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

should  produce  such  scientific  artillery  work  in  so  short 
a  time,  and  they  also  pay  tribute  to  the  daring  of  the  field 
gunners,  who  go  so  far  forward  to  support  the  infantry 
attacks. 

"They  came  up,"  said  one  of  them,  speaking  of  the 
Mametz  Wood  attack,  "like  charioteers  in  a  Roman  circus, 
at  full  gallop.  Many  of  their  horses  were  killed,  but  the 
men  were  reckless  of  danger,  and  placed  their  batteries  in 
the  open  as  though  at  manoeuvres." 


The  field  observing  officers  are  audacious  almost  to  the 
point  of  foolhardiness.  Before  the  ground  of  attack  has 
been  cleared  of  Germans  they  walk  calmly  up  with  a 
telephonist,  sit  down  on  a  crest  or  a  knoll  commanding  a 
field  of  observation,  and  send  back  messages  to  a  battery  a 
mile  or  so  behind. 

When  the  territory  round  Contalmaison  was  still  swarm- 
ing with  Germans,  one  of  our  officers  went  forward  in  this 
way  and  made  himself  at  home  on  the  top  of  a  German  dug- 
out, recording  flashes  and  getting  excellent  information. 
He  went  back  to  his  battery  for  an  hour  or  two,  and 
when  he  returned  to  his  chosen  spot  found  it  occupied  by 
Germans.  They  wanted  to  round  him  up,  but  he  fired  a  few 
revolver  shots  and  retired  with  dignity — to  choose  another 
place  not  quite  so  crowded  with  the  enemy.  Such  tales 
seem  fantastic  and  impossible.     But  they  are  true. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  many  German  batteries  have 
been  destroyed,  apart  from  those  which  have  been  cap- 
tured. I  saw  to-day  a  map,  which  told,  by  little  coloured 
dots,  a  great  drama  of  war.  Each  dot  represented  a  Ger- 
man battery  discovered  by  our  gunners  since  the  beginning 
of  the  battle,  and  each  colour  the  day  it  was  discovered, 
and  they  were  arranged  on  the  map  so  that  one  could  see 


THE  WORK  OF  THE  GUNS  177 

the  exact  distribution  of  the  enemy's  guns,  as  it  has  changed 
during  the  course  of  the  battle. 

Soon  after  our  bombardment  began  they  began  to  drift 
down  new  batteries  and  there  were  clusters  of  little  coloured 
dots  at  certain  spots.  But  a  day  or  two  later  they  were 
wiped  out,  or  withdrawn  further  back.  There  was  one  thick 
cluster  of  green  dots  to  the  north  of  Bazentin-le-Grand.  It 
represented  many  batteries.     A  day  later  they  had  gone. 

"What  happened?"  I  asked. 

The  gunner  officer  laughed. 

"We  just  smothered  'em." 

They  were  "smothered"  by  storms  of  shells  which  burst 
all  over  these  battery  positions,  over  every  yard  of  ground 
there,  so  that  no  gun  emplacement  could  escape. 

But  other  dots  are  appearing  on  the  map — other  little 
clusters  of  colour,  further  away  to  the  right.  The  enemy  is 
massing  new  batteries,  and  it  is  from  these  positions  that 
Delville  Wood,  High  Wood,  and  other  parts  of  our  line 
are  being  shelled  night  and  day  with  fierce  and  increasing 
violence. 

Those  batteries  are  not  so  easy  to  reach.  To  keep  their 
fire  down,  and  still  more  to  knock  them  out  we  must  have  a 
continual  increasing  flow  of  guns  and  ammunition — ammu- 
nition in  vast  and  unimaginable  quantities,  for  the  figures 
I  have  heard  to-day  of  the  ammunition  we  have  used  during 
the  past  three  weeks  are  beyond  one's  range  of  imagination. 
The  munition  workers  at  home  must  not  relax  their  efforts 
if  we  are  to  continue  our  successes.  It  is  by  their  labour  that 
the  lives  of  our  men  can  be  saved.  All  the  time  it  is  a 
battle  of  guns. 


XX 

THE  FIGHTING  ROUND  WATERLOT  FARM 


I 

July  30 
There  was  some  infantry  fighting  to-day  in  co-operation 
with  the  French  on  our  right  wing,  and  as  far  as  our  own 
troops  were  concerned  some  progress  was  made  to  the  east 
of  Waterlot  Farm,  which  is  on  the  road  going  down  from 
Longueval  to  Guillemont.  It  was  a  very  hot  day,  with  a 
scorching  sun,  but  artillery  observation  was  not  easy  dur- 
ing certain  hours  owing  to  a  rather  thick  haze.  In  spite  of 
this  our  guns  maintained  a  heavy  bombardment  upon  the 
enemy's  line  in  support  of  our  troops,  who  advanced  over 
difficult  ground. 

Many  prisoners  surrendered  at  an  early  stage  of  this 
progress,  one  batch  of  170  men  being  captured  first  and 
other  groups  being  rounded  up  later,  bringing  the  total 
number  to  something  more  than  200. 

It  was  rather  more  than  a  week  ago  that  some  of  our 
men  pushed  our  line  down  from  Longueval  to  \Vater'*ot 
Farm,  on  the  road  to  Guillemont,  which  they  held  against 
repeated  attacks. 

The  Germans  are  very  busy  digging  new  trenches  to  the 
east  of  the  road,  and  through  these  they  are  able  to  send 
up  bombing  parties  and  machine-gunners  to  protect  the 
northern  and  western  approaches  to  the  ruins  of  Guillemont 
itself. 


The  first  forward  movement  from  Waterlot  Farm  was 
made  by  some  Scots  who  had  already  been  fighting  hard 

178 


FIGHTING  ROUND  WATERLOT  FARM      179 

since  July  14,  when  they  helped  to  break  the  second  German 
line.  These  Scots,  whom  I  have  met  in  many  fields  of  war 
during  the  past  year  or  more,  had  done  well  elsewhere,  and 
chased  the  enemy  out  of  his  lines.  They  were  grim  men, 
and  ready  for  a  new  "crack  at  the  ould  Boche"  when  they 
took  over  from  another  regiment  at  Waterlot  Farm,  south 
of  Delville  Wood.  It  was  not  a  farm  such  as  Caldecott 
would  have  drawn  for  his  coloured  picture-book.  There 
were  no  cows  or  sheep  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  a  col- 
lection of  ruined  buildings  and  yards  which  the  enemy 
seems  to  have  used  as  a  dumping  ground  for  old  iron  and 
machinery.  There  were  several  derelict  engines  here,  and 
a  steel  cupola  for  a  heavy  gun-emplacement,  like  those  at 
Liege  in  the  early  days  of  the  war,  and  a  litter  of  wheels 
and  rods  and  wire,  mostly  smashed  by  .our  shell  fire.  As  a 
farm  it  left  much  to  be  desired,  but  the  Scots  settled  down 
here  and  made  themselves  as  comfortable  as  possible  in 
the  circumstances. 

In  the  darkness  of  that  night  and  the  next  patrols  went 
out  to  discover  the  strength  of  the  enemy.  Our  young 
officers  and  their  men,  crawling  forward  over  the  broken 
ground,  satisfied  themselves  that  "the  Boche"  was  there  in 
strength.  They  only  had  to  listen  to  the  patter  of  bullets 
which  whipped  the  grass  to  know  that  he  had  plenty  of 
machine-guns  unpleasantly  near. 

Those  who  had  not  met  any  of  those  bullets  came  back 
with  their  reports,  and  the  artillery  bombarded  the  enemy's 
trenches  to  make  the  work  of  the  infantry  easier.  An  ad- 
vance was  made  from  the  farm  before  dawn,  led  by  bomb- 
ing parties  of  the  Scots. 

It  was  a  quiet  and  silent  walk.  The  enemy's  machine- 
guns  were  chattering  a  little,  but  there  was  no  great  fire, 
and  the  Scots  reached  a  trench  north  of  the  railway  line 
with  only  three  men  and  one  officer  wounded.  "That's 
nothing,"  said  the  officer,  and  he  carried  on. 

It  was  impossible  to  go  further  at  that  time.  The  enemy 
were  holding,  very  strongly,  a  trench  immediately  across 


180  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  railway  line,  and  they  had  dug  a  nest  of  new  trenches 
on  the  east  of  the  road,  from  which  they  could  enfilade 
our  men  with  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire. 

The  Scots  got  well  down  into  a  trench  which  was  mostly 
a  series  of  shell-craters,  and  looked  to  their  rifles  and 
bombs.  There  was  not  much  doubt  as  to  what  was  coming. 
It  came  down  the  main  road  from  Guillemont — a  large 
force  of  German  soldiers  with  machine-guns. 

At  the  same  time,  from  the  trench  parallel  with  ours,  the 
Germans  sprang  on  to  their  parapets  and  came  over.  The 
Scots  were  hardly  strong  enough  to  resist  these  attacks 
supported  by  enfilade  fire.  They  were  ordered  to  fall  back, 
and  the  retirement  was  carried  out  without  disorder — to 
say  "without  panic"  would  be  ridiculous  to  these  men  who 
have  fought  a  score  of  battles  since  they  came  to  France — 
and  it  was  covered  by  the  machine-gunners,  who  remained 
as  a  rear-guard,  sweeping  down  the  advanced  parties  of  the 
enemy,  so  as  to  gain  time  for  our  men  to  get  back. 


A  second  move  from  Waterlot  Farm  was  made  by  the 
same  Scots,  supported  by  other  troops.  The  enemy  suf- 
fered badly.  A  very  strong  force  of  German  bombers  made 
a  brave  counter-attack  on  the  Scots,  but  were  caught  by  rifle 
and  machine-gun  fire,  and  fell  almost  to  a  man. 

"Practically  wiped  out"  was  the  way  in  which  an  officer 
of  the  Scots  described  it.  During  the  afternoon  a  patrol 
of  our  snipers  went  out  on  a  hunting  expedition  and  sighted 
a  party  of  Germans  carrying  down  ammunition  boxes.  Not 
all  of  them  reached  their  journey's  end,  for  the  Scottish 
snipers  are  good  shots. 

Some  of  the  German  soldiers  were  sick  of  the  business, 
and  had  had  too  much  shell-fire.  When  dusk  was  creeping, 
over  the  countryside  a  group  of  them  came  out  of  sl  ruined. 


FIGHTING  ROUND  WATERLOT  FARM       181 

farm — it  had  really  been  a  farm  in  the  old  days  of  peace — • 
standing  on  the  left  of  the  main  road  to  Guillemont. 

They  came  holding  up  their  hands  as  a  sign  of  surrender, 
and  some  of  the  Scots  went  out  to  bring  them  in.  But  the 
enemy  in  the  trenches  beyond  opened  fire  on  their  own 
countrymen,  and  some  of  our  own  were  killed  and  wounded. 

When,  later  on,  another  party  came  out,  they  were  not 
received  in  a  friendly  spirit.  .  .  .  That  night  the  Scottish 
stretcher-bearers  went  out  to  bring  in  their  wounded,  and 
they  found  among  them  one  man  of  theirs  who  had  been 
discovered  by  a  German  patrol,  but  left  behind  because  he 
gave  them  his  water  to  drink.  They  thanked  him,  and  said 
"Good  luck,  and  a  safe  return  to  your  own  lines!"  but 
when  they  went  away  he  thought  he  had  been  left  to  die. 


XXI 

THE  PETER  PANS  OF  V/AR 


I 

July  31 
For  two  days  now  the  sun  has  been  blazing  hot,  and  our 
fighting  men  have  been  baked  brown.  It  is  not  good  fight- 
ing weather  either  for  guns  or  men.  A  queer  haze  is  about 
the  fields,  as  thick  at  times  as  a  November  mist  and  yet 
thrilling  with  heat,  so  that  artillery  observation  is  not  good 
for  anything  like  long-range  shooting. 

Mametz  Wood,  which  is  now  well  behind  the  lines,  looms 
up  vaguely,  and,  beyond,  Delville  Wood  is  hardly  visible 
except  as  a  low-lying  smudge  on  the  sky-line.  Yet  the 
sun  is  not  shaded  by  the  haze,  and  strikes  down  glaringly 
upon  the  white  roads  and  the  trampled  fields,  upon  transport 
crawling  forward  in  clouds  of  dust  that  rise  like  the  smoke 
of  fires  about  them,  and  upon  soldiers  trudging  along  with 
their  rifles  slung  and  their  packs  slipping,  their  iron  helmets 
thrust  forward  over  the  eyes  and  their  faces  powdered 
white  as  millers'. 

It  is  hot  and  thirsty  work  and  painful  to  the  spirit  and 
flesh  of  men,  even  along  roads  that  are  not  pebbled  with 
shrapnel  bullets.  Men  on  the  march  to-day  were  glad  of 
frequent  halts,  and  flung  themselves  down  on  the  waysides 
panting  and  sweating,  moistening  their  dusty  lips  with 
parched  tongues  and  fumbling  for  their  water-bottles. 
They  were  lucky  to  have  water,  and  knew  their  luck.  It 
was  worse  for  the  men  who  were  fighting  yesterday  in  the 
same  heat  wave  up  by  Waterlot  Farm  and  further  south  by 
Maltzhom  Farm,  not  far  from  Guillemont. 

182 


THE  PETER  PANS  OF  WAR  183 

Some  of  them  drank  their  water  too  soon,  and  there  was 
not  a  dog's  chance  of  getting  any  more  until  nightfall. 
Thirst,  as  sharp  as  redhot  needles  through  the  tongue,  tor- 
tured some  of  these  men  of  ours.  And  yet  they  were  lucky, 
too,  and  knew  their  luck.  There  were  other  men  suffering 
worse  than  they,  the  wounded  lying  in  places  beyond  the 
quick  reach  of  stretcher-bearers.  "It  was  fair  awfu'  to  hear 
them  crying,"  said  one  of  their  comrades.  "It  was  'Water! 
water!  For  Christ's  sake — water!'  till  their  voices  died 
away." 

As  usual  the  stretcher-bearers  were  magnificent  and  came 
out  under  heavy  fire  to  get  these  men  in  until  some  of  them 
fell  wounded  themselves.  And  other  men  crawled  down 
to  where  their  comrades  lay  and,  in  spite  of  their  own  thirst, 
gave  the  last  dregs  of  their  water  to  these  stricken  men. 
There  were  many  Sir  Philip  Sidneys  there,  not  knighted 
by  any  accolade  except  that  of  charity,  and  very  rough  fel- 
lows in  their  way  of  speech,  but  pitiful. 

There  was  one  of  them  who  lay  wounded  with  some  water 
still  in  the  bottle  by  his  side.  Next  to  him  was  a  wounded 
German,  groaning  feebly  and  saying  "Wasser!  Wasser!" 
The  Yorkshire  lad  knew  enough  to  understand  that  word 
of  German.  He  stretched  out  his  flask  and  said,  "Hi, 
matey,  tak'  a  swig  o'  that."  They  were  two  men  who  had 
tried  to  kill  each  other. 


On  one  part  of  the  battlefields  recently  were  some  of  the 
Bantam  battalions,  those  little  game-cocks  for  whom  most 
of  us  out  here  have  a  warm  corner  in  our  hearts,  because 
they  are  the  smallest  fighting  men  in  the  British  army,  and 
the  sturdiest,  pluckiest  little  men  one  can  meet  on  a  long 
day's  march.  They  have  been  under  fire  in  several  parts  of 
the  line,  where  it  is  not  good  for  any  men  to  be  except 
for  duty's  sake. 

It  has  generally  been  their   fate  to  act  in  support  of 


184  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

other  troops — troops  whom  it  is  an  honour  to  support 
when  they  go  into  action,  because  their  regiments  have  won 
fame  on  all  the  battlefields  of  Europe  since  the  Napoleonic 
wars. 

But  it  is  always  a  dangerous  honour  to  be  in  support. 
The  attacking  troops  have  often  an  easier  time  than  those 
who  lie  behind  them  with  scanty  cover.  It  is  here  that 
the  enemy's  barrage  is  likely  to  fall,  and  there  is  not  much 
fun  in  lying  under  shell-fire  hour  after  hour,  perhaps  for 
two  days,  without  seeing  the  enemy  or  getting  at  him.  The 
ground  becomes  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded.  It  is 
then  that  to  "hold  on"  means  the  highest  heroism. 

The  Bantams  held  on  in  hours  like  this,  held  on  gamely 
and  with  wonderful  grit.  They  became  great  diggers,  and 
because  they  are  not  very  high,  a  shallow  trench  was  good 
enough  for  cover,  and  they  burrowed  like  ants.  "They 
would  as  soon  forget  their  rifles  as  their  shovels,"  said 
one  of  their  officers  to-day.  "There  is  no  need  to  tell 
them  to  dig.  They  get  to  work  mighty  quick,  being  old 
soldiers  now  who  have  learnt  by  experience." 

They  are  old  soldiers  in  cunning  and  knowledge,  but 
there  are  young  lads  among  them.  Old  or  young  (and 
there  are  many  middle-aged  Bantams  who  stand  no  higher 
than  five  feet  in  their  socks),  they  are  all  the  Peter  Pans 
of  the  British  Army — the  Boys-who-wouldn't-grow-up,  and, 
like  the  heroic  Peter  Pan  himself,  who  was  surely  the  first 
of  the  Bantams,  they  are  eager  for  single  combat  with  the 
greatest  enemy  of  England,  Home  and  Beauty  who  may 
come  along.  They  had  their  chance  yesterday,  and  brought 
back  a  number  of  enormous  Bavarians  as  prisoners  fairly 
captured. 

A  certain  Bantam,  ex-boilermaker  of  Leeds  ("the  grand- 
est city  in  the  world,"  he  says),  and  the  King's  Jester  of 
his  battalion  was  enormously  amused  by  the  incident.  He 
said  that  each  Bantam  looked  no  higher  than  the  matchstick 
to  the  candle  with  each  Bavarian.  To  all  these  little  men 
the  German  soldiers  looked  like  giants,  but  like  so  many 


THE  PETER  PANS  OF  WAR  185 

Hop-o'-my-Thumbs  they  took  charge  of  these  Bavarian 
Blunderbores  and  brought  them  back  in  triumph.  They 
went  searching  for  them  in  the  ruins  of  Longueval  some 
days  ago,  and  found  some  of  them  sniping  from  the  trees. 
They  brought  them  down  with  a  crash,  and  collected  sou- 
venirs. 

This  village  was  a  dreadful  place  when  some  of  the 
Bantams  went  into  it.  Only  a  few  ruins  remained,  and 
about  these  many  soldiers  of  many  different  regiments  went 
prowling  in  search  of  Germans  who  were  still  concealed  in 
dug-outs  and  shell-craters,  and  who  still  defended  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village  with  machine-gims,  which  swept  the 
streets. 

There  were  Highlanders  there,  so  "fey"  after  their 
fierce  fighting  that  they  went  about  with  their  bayonets, 
prodding  imaginary  Germans,  and  searching  empty  dug- 
outs as  though  the  enemy  were  crowded  there.  The  ground 
was  strewn  with  dead,  and  from  ruined  trenches  and  piles 
of  broken  bricks  there  came  the  awful  cries  of  wounded 
men. 


There  were  many  wounded — Germans  as  well  as  British 
— and  one  man  tended  them  with  a  heroic  self-sacrifice 
which  is  described  with  reverence  and  enthusiasm  by  many 
officers  and  men.  It  was  a  chaplain  attached  to  the  South 
Africans  who  fought  so  desperately  and  so  splendidly  in 
''Devil's  Wood."  This  "padre"  came  up  to  a  dressing  sta- 
tion established  in  the  one  bit  of  ruin  which  could  be  used 
for  shelter  and  applied  himself  to  the  wounded  with  a 
spiritual  devotion  that  was  utterly  fearless. 

In  order  to  get  water  for  them,  and  the  means  of  mak- 
ing tea,  he  went  many  times  to  a  well  which  was  a  danger 
spot  marked  down  by  German  snipers,  who  shot  our  men, 
agonising  with  thirst,  as  though  they  were  tigers  going  down 
to  drink.    They  are  justified  according  to  the  laws  of  war. 


186  THE  BATTLES  Oy  THE  SOMME 

but  it  was  a  cruel  business.  There  was  one  German  officer 
there,  in  a  shell-hole,  not  far  from  the  well,  who  sat  with  his 
revolver  handy  to  pick  off  any  men  who  ventured  to  the 
well,  and  he  was  a  dead  shot. 

But  he  did  not  shoot  the  padre.  Something  in  the  fine 
figure  of  that  chaplain,  his  disregard  of  all  the  bullets 
snapping  about  him,  the  tireless,  fearless  way  in  which  he 
crossed  a  street  of  death  in  order  to  help  the  wounded,  held 
back  the  trigger-finger  of  the  German  officer,  and  he  let 
him  pass.  He  passed  many  times,  untouched  by  bullets  or 
machine-gun  fire,  and  he  went  into  its  worst  places,  which 
were  pits  of  horror,  carrying  hot  tea,  which  he  had  made 
from  the  well-water  for  men  in  agony  because  of  their 
wounds  and  thirst. 

They  were  officers  of  the  Bantams  who  told  me  the 
story,  though  the  padre  was  not  theirs,  and  their  generous 
praise  was  fine  to  hear.  It  was  good  also  to  hear  the  talk 
of  these  men  who  had  just  come  out  of  battle  with  the 
grime  and  dirt  of  war  upon  them,  about  the  men  they  love 
to  command. 

These  young  officers  are  keen,  bright-eyed  fellows,  and 
in  spite  of  all  they  had  been  through — things  not  yet  to  be 
described — they  bore  but  little  trace  of  their  endurance.  I 
sat  with  them  under  a  tent  propped  up  by  stretcher-poles, 
with  one  flap  tied  to  an  old  cart,  while  the  men  who  had 
just  marched  down  were  lying  in  groups  on  the  field,  mostly 
without  shirts  and  socks,  because  of  the  heat  and  the  long 
time  since  they  had  changed  their  clothes. 

Afterwards  I  went  among  the  men — all  these  Peter  Pans 
— who  came  from  all  parts  of  Scotland  and  the  North  of 
England,  so  that  their  speech  is  not  easy  to  a  man  from  the 
South.  They  were  talking  of  German  snipers  and  German 
shells,  of  all  that  they  had  suffered  and  done,  and  the  boiler- 
maker,  their  comic  turn,  was  egged  on  to  say  outrageous 
things  which  caused  roars  of  laughter  from  the  Bantam 
crowd.  The  language  of  the  boilermaker  on  the  subject 
of  Germans  and  the  pleasures  of  war  would  be  quite  un- 


THE  PETER  PANS  OF  WAR  187 

printable,  but  the  gist  of  it  was  full  of  virtue  and  suited 
the  philosophy  of  these  five-foot  Coeurs-de-Lion,  who  were 
grinning  round  him. 

It  is  the  philosophy  of  our  modern  knights,  who  take 
more  risks  in  one  day  than  their  forebears  in  a  lifetime, 
and  find  a  grim  and  sinister  humour  in  the  worst  things  of 
war. 


XXII 
THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES 


I 

August  5 
Last  evening,  just  as  dusk  was  creeping  over  the  battle- 
fields, the  Australians,  with  English  troops  on  their  left, 
sprang  over  the  parapets  of  their  lines  at  Pozieres,  advanced 
up  five  hundred  yards  of  rising  ground,  stormed  through 
the  trenches  of  the  second  German  line,  and  captured  the 
crest  of  the  ridge  which  looks  down  to  Courcelette  and 
Martinpuich. 

It  was  a  great  and  tragic  surprise  to  the  enemy.  They 
may  have  believed,  I  think  they  did  believe,  that  after  the 
series  of  battles  in  the  July  fighting,  the  spirit  of  the  British 
offensive  was  broken,  and  that  our  troops  were  too  tired  to 
make  fresh  assaults.  The  German  generals  tried  to  put 
comfort  into  the  hearts  of  their  men  by  telling  them  that 
the  British  guns  and  the  British  soldiers  had  done  their 
worst,  and  that  the  attack  was  at  an  end.  The  lull  deceived 
them. 

Because  two  or  three  days  had  passed  without  any  in- 
fantry action  after  thirty  days  of  unceasing  battle  there  may 
well  have  seemed  to  the  enemy  a  reasonable  hope  that  we 
should  content  ourselves  with  digging  in  and  holding  the 
ground  gained.  One  thing,  however,  must  have  disheart- 
ened the  German  troops  and  prevented  any  kind  of  nervous 
recuperation  after  the  appalling  strain  of  the  month's  shell- 
fire.  The  British  guns,  vhich  should  have  been  worn  out, 
and  the  British  gunners  supposed  to  be  exhausted,  went  on 
firing. 

188 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         189 

They  went  on  all  yesterday,  as  on  the  day  before  and 
more  than  a  month  of  yesterdays,  with  their  long,  steady 
bombardment,  that  bombardment  which  is  now  rumbling 
with  its  sullen  shocks  of  sound  as  I  write,  and  as  it  goes  on 
night  and  day.  Long-range  guns  were  reaching  out  to 
places  far  ahead  the  German  lines.  Courcelette  was  a  ruin. 
Martinpuich  was  falling  to  pieces.  There  is  no  safety  for 
Germans  anywhere  and  up  in  the  lines  no  safety  except  in 
the  deepest  dug-outs  for  officers  and  lucky  men. 


"As  many  men  as  could  get  into  dug-outs  to  the  north  of 
Pozieres  were  down  there  yesterday,  listening  to  the  crashes 
of  our  heavy  shells  which  were  smashing  the  trenches 
about  them  and  screaming  overhead  on  more  distant  jour- 
neys. 

The  Australians  and  English  troops,  including  men  of 
Kent,  Sussex,  and  Surrey  regiments,  were  waiting  in  their 
own  trenches. 

A  crescent  moon  came  up.  The  woods  darkened.  Shad- 
ows crept  down  from  Thiepval.  Distant  cornfields  in  the 
world  beyond  the  war,  so  near  as  miles  are  counted,  so  far 
away  in  peace,  became  bronzed  and, red,  and  then  all  dark 
and  vague  in  the  evening  mist.  Above,  the  sky  was  still 
blue,  with  stars  very  bright  and  glistening. 

It  was,  I  think,  about  9  o'clock — as  the  clock  goes  now  in 
France  and  England — when  the  British  troops  left  their 
trenches.  They  went  quietly  without  any  great  clamour 
across  that  500  yards  of  ground,  dusky  figures,  the  brown 
of  their  khaki  no  different  from  the  colour  of  the  earth 
around  them,  through  the  gloom  of  coming  night.  The 
Australians  worked  up  to  the  right,  the  English  to  the  left. 
Before  them  was  the  German  second  line  on  a  front  of 
about  3,000  yards,  and  part  of  that  long  line  which  was 
pierced  and  taken  on  July  14,  between  Bazentin-le-Petit  and 


190  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

Longueval,  when  the  British  troops  went  up  in  waves  and 
astounded  the  world  by  their  achievement.  It  was  no  longer 
a  line  of  trenches. 

It  was  a  wavy  line  of  hummocky  and  tumbled  earth 
along  innumerable  shell-craters  such  as  I  described  at 
Montauban.  Only  the  dug-outs,  or  some  of  them,  still 
remained  in  all  this  chaos,  filled  with  living  and  wounded 
and  dead. 

Out  of  the  wreck  of  earth,  as  our  men  advanced,  living 
men  came  out  in  groups.  They  came  forward  through  the 
dusky  night  with  their  hands  held  up — pitiable  shadows. 
Most  of  them  were  utterly  nerve-broken — beaten  and 
broken  men  with  no  fight  left  in  them,  but  only  an  animal 
fear,  and  desire  of  life. 

Their  surrender  was  received,  and  the  English  and  Aus- 
tralians put  guards  about  them  and  sent  them  back  to  our 
lines  while  they  went  on  to  clear  out  the  dug-outs  of  men 
who  refused  to  come  out,  or  could  not  come  out,  and  to 
deal  with  those  who  further  back  had  still  the  courage  to 
defend  themselves. 

There  was  some  bayonet  fighting  and  bombing.  From 
behind  the  German  lines  in  isolated  redoubts  machine-guns 
were  at  work  spraying  out  bullets.  But  our  casualties  were 
very  few;  all  told,  less,  I  imagine,  than  in  any  action  of 
importance  during  the  Battle  of  the  Somme.  The  enemy's 
losses  were  heavy.  More  than  400  prisoners  have  passed 
the  toll-bar,  and  others  are  being  brought  down.  In  dead 
he  lost  more  than  that,  and  his  wounded  must  number  high 
figures.  It  was  a  blow  which  must  be  grievous  to  him  after 
all  the  hammer-strokes  of  the  month,  and  what  is  most 
significant  is  the  troubled  state  of  his  soldiers,  these  dazed 
and  nerve-shattered  men  who  surrendered.  They  had  no 
pride  left  in  them. 

These  men  were  mostly  of  the  17th  and  i8th  Reserve 
Division  of  the  9th  Reserve  Corps  with  miscellaneous  drafts 
from  various  Ersatz  or  reserve  battalions,  the  scourings  of 
the  last  class  whom  Germany  can,  I  suppose,  put  into  the 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         191 

field.  By  that  I  do  not  mean  they  are  physically  weak  or 
undersized — there  are  very  few  Germaii  soldiers  who  could 
be  described  like  that — but  they  are  not  soldiers  of  the 
proud  and  highly-trained  kind  who  fought  in  earlier  days 
of  the  war.  They  are  men  with  families  and  with  a  great 
yearning  for  peace,  and  no  love  of  this  massacre  which  is 
ordained  by  their  warlords. 

During  the  night  the  troops  behind  them  were  rallied 
to  make  three  separate  counter-attacks.  They  came  on  very 
bravely — there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  German  courage 
as  a  rule — but  in  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  and  stupidly.  They 
walked  into  our  barrage,  and  our  shells  caught  them  and 
shattered  them. 

To-day  up  to  the  time  I  write  there  has  been  no  further 
attack  by  infantry,  but  the  enemy's  guns  have  opened  and 
maintained  a  very  fierce  fire  upon  the  positions  gained  by 
our  troops. 

The  new  part  of  the  German  second  line  now  in  our  hands 
makes  up  with  the  other  part  of  his  line  captured  on  July  14 
a  distance  of  nearly  10,000  yards. 


3 

August  7 

All  last  night,  which  was  still  and  calm,  as  the  weather 
goes,  there  was  a  great  hammering  of  guns,  and  this  morn- 
ing, when  I  went  out  in  the  direction  of  Thiepval,  the  ar- 
tillery on  both  sides  was  hard  at  work.  The  enemy  was  drop- 
ping "heavy  stuff"  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Pozieres,  with 
occasional  shots  at  long  range  into  fields  about  quiet  vil- 
lages behind  the  lines  which  look  utterly  peaceful  in  the 
warm  light  of  this  August  sun  gleaming  upon  their  church 
spires  and  upon  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees  around  them. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  tumult  of  guns  and  below  the 
long  resonant  journeying  of  great  shells  on  their  way  to  the 
enemy's  territory  that  I  sat  to-day  with  some  of  the  officers 


192  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

who  have  just  chased  the  Germans  out  of  their  trenches  to 
the  north  of  Pozieres. 

They  were  all  men  of  Kent  around  me.  The  captain  is  a 
merry  soul,  who  laughs  most  heartily  over  his  hairbreadth 
escapes  and  still  more  loudly  when  he  describes  little  ex- 
ploits which  would  make  most  men  shudder  at  the  mere 
remembrance. 

The  colonel  of  his  battalion,  who  sat  opposite,  is  of  a  dif- 
ferent type,  quiet  and  thoughtful,  but  with  a  sense  of  hu- 
mour also  that  lights  his  eyes.  And  two  places  off  was  the 
M.O. — a  doctor  who  loves  his  men  and  would  not  leave  this 
battalion  of  the  Kents  for  any  other  in  the  Army  (he  has 
patched  up  all  their  bodies  after  every  scrap  and  did  heroic 
work  for  them  the  other  night). 

Before  the  fighting  began  the  colonel  took  the  jovial  cap- 
tain up  to  the  line  "to  view  the  Promised  Land,"  as  he 
called  it.  And  the  Promised  Land  looked  very  uninviting 
on  this  high  ridge — above  the  blackened  ruins  of  Pozieres — 
where  the  German  second  lines  were  guarded  by  a  tangle 
of  barbed  wire.  It  was  also  difficult  to  look  at  it  very 
long  or  very  closely,  because  the  enemy  was  ^'lathering" 
the  field  of  observation  with  every  kind  of  "crump"  and 
shell. 

"When  we  popped  over  the  parapet,"  says  the  captain, 
"we  advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  Brock's  Benefit,  and 
it  was  obvious  that  the  blinking  Boche  had  got  the  wind  up." 

That  is  to  say  the  enemy  was  sending  up  distress  signals 
to  his  guns,  and  in  the  anticipation  of  an  attack,  was  flinging 
coloured  lights  over  to  our  lines  so  as  to  illuminate  any 
British  infantry  who  might  be  advancing.  These  lights 
were  fired  out  of  a  special  kind  of  pistol,  and  when  they  fell 
flared  up  with  vivid  red  and  green  fires.  At  the  same  time 
the  enemy's  machine-guns  played  upon  any  figures  so  re- 
vealed, so  that  it  was  almost  certain  death  to  be  in  those 
flare  lights.  At  great  risk  several  men  sprang  forward  into 
the  illumination  and  kicked  out  the  burning  canisters.  Then 
in  the  momentary  darkness,  the  leading  companies  advanced 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         193 

in  waves  towards  the  German  trenches  south  of  Mouquet 
(or,  as  the  soldiers  call  it,  Moo-Cow)  Farm. 


The  colonel  of  the  battalion  went  very  gallantly  with  his 
men,  and  as  he  drew  near  to  the  enemy's  line  saw  two  fig- 
ures silhouetted  like  his  own  men  had  been  against  the 
enemy's  lights.  He  called  out  to  them,  thinking  they  might 
be  his  own  men  working  forward  on  his  right.  But  he  saw 
they  were  Germans  when  one  man  threw  up  his  hands  as  a 
sign  of  surrender,  and  the  other  dropped  on  to  one  knee  to 
fire  a  rifle  shot.  The  colonel  sprang  forward,  covering  them 
with  his  revolvers,  and  took  both  of  them  prisoner. 

Without  many  casualties  in  spite  of  machine-gun  fire, 
our  men  reached  the  German  trenches.  Great  heroism  was 
shown  by  a  young  lieutenant  and  a  party  of  bombers  who 
went  first  over  No  Man's  Land  so  quickly  behind  our  bar- 
rage that  they  risked  death  by  our  own  shells  and  came 
against  the  first  defence.  The  officer  and  several  of  this 
first  wave  were  found  lying  wounded  400  yards  further 
than  the  "jump-out"  position,  and  it  was  their  quick  ad- 
vance which  scared  the  enemy  and  helped  to  demoralise 
him. 


One  of  the  prisoners  taken  later  was  a  forward  observing 
officer,  a  Prussian  giant  well  over  six  feet  high  and  enor- 
mously stout,  and  he  was  put  in  charge  of  a  little  Kentish 
man  standing  five  foot  one  in  his  socks.  The  German 
giant  was  very  frightened  at  the  machine-gun  fire  of  his 
own  people,  which  was  whipping  over  the  ground,  and  he 
went  back  crouching  in  a  bear-like  way,  prodded  from  be- 
hind by  the  wee  man  in  khaki.  This  sight,  illuminated  by 
the  flares,  was  seen  by  the  men  left  behind  in  our  own 


194  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

trenches,  and  they  stood  up  on  their  parapets  laughing  and 
cheering  wildly. 

But  there  were  other  trenches  ahead,  and  the  men  "hared" 
ofif  to  these,  and  found  them  held  by  scared  men.  The 
Kentish  men  started  bombing  down  the  trench  "like  mad," 
and  blocked  it  at  each  end  in  case  of  accidents,  while  a  young 
officer  posted  a  machine-gun  on  the  left  of  it. 

The  position,  however,  became  quite  obviously  an  unten- 
able one,  when  the  Germans  rallied  and  attacked  in  bomb- 
ing parties  from  the  farm.  Many  of  them  were  cut  down 
by  the  young  officer  with  his  Lewis  gun  and  by  the  Kentish 
grenadiers,  but  they  brought  up  machine-guns  and  made  the 
position  "very  hot."  A  lance-corporal  behaved  very  gal- 
lantly in  going  back  700  yards  under  heavy  fire  to  report 
the  situation,  and  volunteered  to  return  with  the  message 
that  the  patrol  could  not  be  supported  and  must  fall  back  in 
small  groups.  This  he  did,  and  returned  again  in  safety 
with  the  other  party,  who  brought  with  them  three  more 
prisoners  "as  samples"  (to  use  their  own  phrase),  including 
the  huge  officer  whom  I  have  described  previously. 

They  have  funny  fellows  among  them — this  British  bat- 
talion— and  the  amount  of  comedy  they  extract  from  all 
this  grim  business  is  astounding.  There  is  one  of  their 
number  who  was  once  a  m.ember  of  Fred  Karno's  troupe, 
and  has  not  lost  his  old  instincts  for  a  knockabout  turn. 
When  he  took  a  prisoner  he  caught  him  by  the  hand  and 
danced  a  "pas  de  quatre"  with  him. 

"Offizier?"  asked  the  astounded  man. 

"Oui,  oui,"  said  the  comic  turn,  "and  you — prisonnier — 
savez  ?" 

So  much  for  the  men  of  Kent,  though  I  should  like  to 
tell  more  if  I  had  the  time  to-night  about  their  medical 
officer  who  tended  all  the  wounded  men  of  two  companies 
and  thirty  wounded  Germans  in  a  subterranean  dressing  sta- 
tion (there  was  no  comedy  there),  and  more  about  their 
very  fine  and  fearless  colonel,  and  about  the  cheerful  cap- 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         195 

tain,  whose  adventures  since  the  war  began  would  fill  a 
book  as  strange  as  the  Memoirs  of  Marbot. 

To-day  other  men  were  fighting  in  the  same  place,  and 
I  must  tell  at  some  later  time  the  fine  work  of  the  Surrey  and 
Sussex  men. 

6 

August  ii 

The  enemy  has  made  several  attempts  to  regain  the  high 
ground  taken  from  him  to  the  north  of  Pozieres,  and  yes- 
terday evening,  between  the  hours  of  five  and  seven  o'clock, 
he  sent  out  a  strong  body  of  infantry  to  attack  our  trenches. 
It  was  a  curious,  vain,  and  tragic  endeavour,  like  several 
other  counterattacks  launched  at  the  command  of  the  Ger- 
man staff  by  men  recently  brought  up  as  support  troops, 
knowing  quite  obviously  nothing  of  the  country  in  which 
they  are  called  upon  to  fight,  and  just  blundering  out  with 
a  kind  of  desperate  courage  towards  our  lines.  It  was 
exactly  thus  last  evening. 

From  the  prisoners  we  took  it  is  certain  knowledge  that 
these  troops  had  no  familiarity  with  this  ground  between 
Mouquet  Farm  and  the  Windmill,  and  when  they  were 
ordered  to  attack  regarded  themselves  as  sheep  sent  to 
the  slaughter.  They  knew  only  that  the  Australians  were 
in  front  of  them,  and  from  what  they  have  heard  of  the 
Australians  they  did  not  have  much  hope. 

What  hope  they  had  was  in  the  guns  behind  them,  and 
certainly,  in  spite  of  all  the  German  guns  we  have  knocked 
out  by  counter-battery  work,  and  all  those  having  had  to 
shift  their  ground  from  day  to  day  owing  to  our  ceaseless 
searchings  for  their  emplacements  with  the  aid  of  our  aerial 
scouts,  the  bombardment  that  preceded  the  German  assault 
was  intense  and  formidable. 

The  Australians  "stuck  it,"  guessing  what  was  to  follow. 
In  the  trenches  they  have  dug,  and  the  shell  craters,  and  the 
old  German  trenches  which  are  now  almost  shapeless  under 
our  own  and  the  enemy's  fire,  they  held  on,  and  kept  thei^' 


196  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

bombs  ready,  and  their  machine-guns  handy,  and  watchful 
eyes,  wherever  a  man  could  see,  upon  a  row  of  broken  tree 
stumps  appearing  over  the  crest  of  the  Pozieres  ridge  beyond 
the  Windmill. 

Then,  below  the  crest  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge — the 
German  side — is  Mouquet  Farm,  called  "Moo-cow  Farm" 
by  men  who  will  still  jest,  whatever  the  conditions  of  life. 
A  small  valley  or  gully  runs  behind  the  farm  towards  the 
quarries,  and  it  was  from  this  that  the  German  soldiers  came 
streaming  out  in  open  order  when  their  guns  lengthened 
range  so  that  they  could  get  forward  without  walking  into 
their  own  barrage. 

As  it  happened,  they  walked  into  our  barrage.  Our  guns 
were  waiting  for  them.  At  the  end  of  a  telephone  wire  was 
a  gunner-general  who  does  not  keep  people  waiting  very 
long  when  they  are  in  need  of  his  "heavies,"  and  many  gun- 
ner officers  were  standing  by  their  batteries  ready  to  give  the 
word  "Fire!"  with  their  guns  and  howitzers  registered  on 
the  line  across  which  the  enemy's  troops  would  come  as 
soon  as  they  were  ordered  to  attack. 

In  our  lines  the  trench  mortar  batteries  were  making 
ready  to  hurl  their  high  explosives,  and  the  Lewis  gunners 
were  eager  to  get  to  work  instead  of  standing  under  German 
shell-fire. 

The  enemy's  infantry  came  straggling  forward  in  ex- 
tended order,  and  in  irregular  waves.  There  were  two  bat- 
talions of  them  in  the  open — out  in  that  750  yards  of  No 
Man's  Land  upon  which  the  evening  sun  was  shining  with  a 
golden  haze — when  our  shells  burst  over  them  and  the 
trench  mortars  made  a  target  of  them,  and  our  machine- 
guns  whipped  into  their  ranks  with  a  scourge  of  bullets. 

The  men  fell  face  forward  in  large  numbers.  Others 
came  on  and  fell  further  from  their  own  lines.  Men  ran 
quickly,  as  though  to  escape  from  all  the  bursting  shells 
into  the  Australian  lines,  flung  up  their  arms,  and  lay  still. 

They  were  very  brave.  Quite  a  number  of  these  German 
soldiers  travelled  a  quarter  of  a  mile  over  this  open  ground. 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         197 

in  spite  of  the  terrific  fire  concentrated  upon  it  before  some 
bit  of  shell  caught  them  and  killed  them,  or  left  them  lying 
there  in  agony. 

No  German  soldier  came  through  alive.  Only  a  few 
men  out  of  the  two  battalions  escaped.  Men  were  standing 
on  the  parapets  of  the  German  line,  calling  to  them,  calling 
them  back,  trying  to  save  something  out  of  this  senseless 
slaughter  that  had  been  ordered. 

The  counter-attack  was  an  utter  failure,  and  one  is  left 
wondering  why  the  enemy  attempted  such  attacks,  pre- 
destined to  end  in  disaster.  It  is  an  expensive  form  of 
reconnaissance  to  test  our  strength. 

The  German  soldiers  would  have  a  right  to  call  it  murder. 
It  seems  to  show  that  the  enemy's  Stafif  is  disorganised,  per- 
haps a  little  demoralised,  by  the  continual  bombardment 
which  cuts  their  signal  lines  and  prevents  the  sending  up  of 
supports  and  supplies. 

The  Australians  are  still  fighting  in  a  way  which  wins  the 
admiration  of  their  generals  and  Staff  and  of  all  the  Army. 
These  clean-cut  men,  so  fine  in  physique  and  appearance 
that  one  always  turns  to  look  at  them  in  any  street  of  war, 
are  not  stolid  fellows  who  can  stand  the  test  of  shell-fire 
without  suffering  in  spirit. 

They  are  highly  strung  and  sensitive,  with  a  more  nervous 
temperament  than  many  of  our  English  soldiers,  but  they 
have  a  pride  and  an  heroic  quality  that  keeps  them  steady, 
and  an  intelligence  in  the  individual  as  well  as  in  mass  which 
makes  them  great  soldiers. 


7 

August  13 
There  have  been  no  sensational  advances  since  the  great 
day  of  July  14,  when  our  men  broke  through  the  second 
German  line,  but  hardly  a  day  passed  since  then  without 
some  progress  being  made  to  get  a  stronger  grip  on  the  high 
ridge  which  rolls  down  on  the  enemy's  side  from  Pozieres 


198  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

and  the  two  Bazentins  and  High  Wood.  This  fighting  has 
been  very  hard  and  grim,  and  the  enemy  has  done  his  utmost 
to  check  every  yard  of  our  men's  advance  by  continual  cur- 
tain-fire, so  that  to  take  a  trench  or  two,  or  to  rush  over  a 
few  dozen  yards  of  No  Man's  Land,  has  been  a  perilous 
adventure. 

It  is  most  excellent,  therefore,  that  last  night  our  men 
were  able  to  make  a  further  "shove,"  as  they  call  it,  of 
nearly  400  yards  in  depth  on  a  front  of  about  a  mile.  This 
was  to  the  north-west  of  Pozieres,  and  at  the  same  time 
ground  was  gained  on  the  north-west  of  Bazentin-le-Petit 
closer  to  the  German  switch-line  between  us  and  Martin- 
puich. 

The  men  who  have  been  fighting  this  uphill  battle,  for 
that  is  what  it  is  literally  and  morally,  have  been  showing 
remarkable  qualities.  It  is  an  alliance  between  the  Aus- 
tralians and  old  English  regiments  with  new  men  in  them, 
including  some  of  the  "Derby  recruits."  Although  the  Aus- 
tralians have  had  the  greater  share  of  the  fighting  round 
Pozieres,  being  in  greater  numbers,  they  are  the  first  to  pay 
a  tribute  to  the  spirit  of  the  English  lads,  and  their  admira- 
tion is  returned.  An  episode  which  happened  a  week  ago 
shows  the  way  in  which  they  are  sharing  the  struggle. 

I  have  already  written  how  the  men  of  Kent  went  for- 
ward on  August  4,  and  took  the  German  line,  under  the  com- 
mand of  that  fine  colonel  and  jovial  captain,  whose  exploits 
will  be  remembered.  On  the  right  of  them  were  the  Sussex 
men — fair-haired  fellows  from  Arundel  and  Burpham,  and 
little  old  villages  lying  snug  in  the  South  Downs,  and  quiet 
old  market  towns  like  Chichester — Lord! — a  world  away 
from  places  like  Pozieres.  The  line  of  their  trenches  was 
in  touch  with  the  Australians,  and  as  they  scrambled  over 
the  parapets  at  the  time  of  the  attacks  these  comrades  on 
the  right  shouted  out  to  them, 

"Hullo,  boys,  what's  up?    Where  are  you  going?" 
"Oh,  just  up  along,"  said  the  Sussex  lads,  pointing  to  a 
"hotshop,"  as  they  call  it  where  a  lot  of  shells  were  bursting. 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         199 

"Is  that  so?  You  don't  say?  Gosh!  We'll  come  with 
you." 

It  wasn't  discipline.  The  men  had  no  orders  to  go,  as 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  but  some  of  them  certainly  did  go, 
in  a  friendly  way,  and  joined  in  the  "scrum"  up  there,  where 
it  was  no  joke. 

8 

The  story  of  the  Sussex  men  is  very  much  like  that  of 
their  comrades  from  Kent  which  I  have  told  in  detail — the 
bombing  down  the  trenches,  the  searching  of  the  German 
dug-outs,  the  encounters  with  Germans  who  were  hiding  in 
shell-craters.  But  some  of  the  episodes  have  a  special  char- 
acter, worth  telling. 

They  show  the  human  nature  of  the  business  up  there 
beyond  Pozieres.  After  the  first  rush  through  the  German 
line  it  became  a  question  of  catching  Germans  in  shell-holes, 
which  are  good  places — or  good  enough — for  snipers  who 
prefer  to  go  on  killing  before  they  die.  A  Sussex  man  who 
spoke  some  German  took  the  risk  of  going  out  alone  to  one 
of  these  craters  and  shouted  out  to  the  men  below : — 

"If  you  don't  surrender  at  once  we  shall  shoot  you." 

Instantly  several  heads  and  several  pairs  of  hands  ap- 
peared. 

One  man  came  out  with  his  hands  full  of  gifts  and,  fall- 
ing upon  his  knees,  begged  for  mercy.  He  had  cleared  his 
pockets  and  his  dug-out  of  little  fancy  articles  like  his  watch, 
knife,  compass,  cigarette-case,  scissors,  silver  soap-box  and 
pipe-lighter,  which  he  offered  humbly  as  a  ransom  for  his 
life. 

It  appeared  later  that  he  was  in  mortal  terror  of  having 
his  throat  cut,  and  he  was  profoundly  grateful  when  he 
was  taken  back  to  a  dug-out  and  given  some  whisky  and 
cigarettes.  He  then  asked  leave  to  tell  his  friends  the  glad 
tidings,  and  when  this  was  allowed  he  went  out  with  his 
guards  and  called  to  the  other  men.    Immediately  a  number 


200  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

of  them  came  out  of  their  hiding-places  and  formed  a  pro- 
cession with  their  hands  up. 

It  was  against  the  Sussex  men  that  the  Germans  used  their 
"flammenwerfer,"  or  flame-jets.  It  is  a  clumsy  form  of 
frightfulness,  as  I  guessed  when  I  first  saw  one  of  these 
machines.  It  takes  two  men  to  work  it,  one  with  the  reser- 
voir strapped  to  his  back,  the  other  pumping  out  the  long 
spray  of  flame,  which  has  a  range  of  twenty-five  yards. 
There  were  eight  of  these  flame-throwers  brought  against 
the  Sussex  lads,  but  before  they  had  done  any  damage  the 
sixteen  men  who  advanced  with  them  were  all  shot  down. 
It  is  not  by  "flammenwerfer"  that  the  German  counter- 
attacks have  any  chance  of  success. 


The  advance  last  night  when  the  Australian  troops  took 
an  important  line  of  rising  ground  is  a  further  proof  that 
the  enemy  has  not  by  any  means  consolidated  his  defensive 
positions  so  strongly  that  they  make  the  same  kind  of  bar- 
rier against  us  as  those  which  had  to  be  forced  in  the  first 
attacks. 

In  spite  of  all  his  industry  in  digging  he  has  not  been  able 
to  make  any  system  of  trenches  and  dug-outs  to  withstand 
our  shell-fire.  As  soon  as  he  gets  on  with  a  trench  our  guns 
register  upon  it  and  lay  it  flat.  His  one  protection  is  in 
artillery  retaliation,  and  however  great  its  destructive  power 
it  cannot  give  cover  to  the  German  infantry  crouching  in 
shallow  ditches,  and  having  to  come  up  through  communi- 
cation trenches  ploughed  by  high  explosives. 

They  belong  to  battalions  hurriedly  gathered  from  other 
parts  of  the  line  and  flung  in  to  stop  the  gap.  They  are  the 
victims  of  the  general  disorganisation  of  the  divisions  and 
the  staffs  which  have  suffered  most  heavily  from  our  re- 
peated attacks.  Behind  them,  no  doubt,  the  German  Head- 
quarters Staff  is  as  cool  and  deliberate  as  ever,  not  allowing 
itself  to  be  scared  by  these  reverses,  organising  new  lines  of 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         201 

defence  in  case  of  need,  shifting  its  guns,  playing  the  old 
blood-and-iron  game  with  cold,  scientific  brains  that  are  not 
affected  by  the  losses  or  the  agonies  of  men,  except  as  they 
have  an  influence  upon  the  operations. 

For  they  are  highly-trained  scientists  of  war,  these  Ger- 
man staff  officers,  and  in  defeat,  as  once  in  victory,  they 
will,  I  fancy,  be  as  cold  and  as  hard  as  steel,  and  as  inhuman 
as  the  devil.  Therefore  it  is  idle  in  my  opinion  to  hope  for 
a  sudden  and  sensational  collapse  of  the  German  war-ma- 
chine, or  to  argue  from  local  weaknesses  and  symptoms  of 
bad  staff  work  a  general  disorder. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  many  signs  that  the  enemy  is  be- 
ginning to  feel  a  severe  strain  upon  his  defensive  strength 
and  that  his  men  are  being  put  to  an  ordeal  which  not  even 
all  their  discipline  and  their  courage  can  make  endurable. 

For  men  of  a  certain  kind  of  science  are  apt  to  forget  that 
there  are  other  things  in  human  nature  besides  the  chem- 
istry of  flesh  and  blood,  and  that  not  even  the  finest  soldiers 
can  be  made  to  fight  well  if  their  spirit  is  broken  by  repeated 
losses. 

lO 

August  17 
It  is  at  the  two  ends  of  our  recent  line  of  attack — on  the 
left  above  Pozieres  and  on  the  right  around  Guillemont — 
that  the  interest  of  the  present  fighting  for  the  moment 
gathers,  and  in  both  these  districts  some  progress  has  been 
made  by  our  infantry  during  the  past  day  or  two.  The 
successful  advance  of  the  French,  northwards  from  Harde- 
court  towards  Angle  Wood,  and  their  capture  of  the  ravine 
to  the  south-west  of  it  helps  to  strengthen  our  lines  about 
Guillemont,  especially  as  some  of  our  troops  advancing  from 
the  trenches  south  of  Malz  Horn  Farm,  and  west  of  Trones 
Wood,  linked  hands  with  our  Allies  yesterday. 

I  have  already  described  in  a  previous  despatch  the  great 
difficulty  of  working  over  the  ground  about  Guillemont  and 
the  hard  time  some  of  our  men  have  had  in  pushing  for- 


202  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

ward  to  the  outskirts  of  that  town.  The  enemy  has  con- 
centrated a  large  number  of  batteries  in  the  country  beyond, 
and  near  at  hand  is  defending  himself  from  many  machine- 
gun  emplacements  and  a  maze  of  newly-dug  trenches. 

The  operations  yesterday  in  conjunction  with  the  French 
are  still  in  progress  and  the  result  at  present  is  indecisive, 
but  with  both  French  and  British  troops  closing  upon  them 
the  situation  of  the  garrison  in  Guillemont  is  not  what  sol- 
diers would  call  "healthy." 

Yesterday  morning  I  was  more  interested  personally  in 
the  left  side  of  the  battle  line  above  Pozieres,  as  from  an 
artillery  observation  post  I  was  able  to  get  a  very  clear  view 
of  our  own  and  the  enemy's  ground  in  this  district — ground 
which  has  been  won  and  held  by  English  and  Australian 
regiments  with  a  determination  and  courage  which  I  have 
described  several  times  with  some  detail. 

There  before  me  on  the  sky-line  was  the  windmill  which 
should  be  as  famous  in  the  history  of  this  war  as  the  Ferry- 
man's House  on  the  Yser  Canal  or  the  chateau  at  Vermelles, 
or  the  "Tower  Bridge"  at  Loos.  Waves  of  men  have 
surged  up  the  slope  to  it  under  storms  of  shell-fire.  To 
Australians  fighting  for  the  high  ridge  on  which  it  stands 
above  Martinpuich  it  has  been  the  goal  of  great  endeavour, 
for  which  many  of  them  have  given  their  lives.  The  enemy 
defended  it  as  if  it  were  a  great  treasure  house,  though 
only  an  old  building  of  timber  and  stone  against  which  the 
wind  of  centuries  has  blown,  turning  the  great  black  sails 
which  ground  the  corn  of  the  folk  in  Pozieres  before  ever 
a  howitzer  had  been  fired  in  the  world  or  a  flying  machine 
had  come  humming  over  the  hill.  The  windmill  is  ours  now. 
Our  line  sweeps  round  it  and  our  shell-fire  drops  on  the 
other  side  of  the  slope,  barraging  the  enemy's  ways  to  and 
from  Martinpuich. 

But  it  is  only  the  relic  of  a  millhouse.  The  timbers  have 
been  blown  to  atoms  weeks  ago.  The  sails  fell  in  the  first 
bombardment,  and  all  that  stands  now  is  the  stone  base  in  the 
form  of  a  small  pyramid  as  a  memorial  of  great  bloodshed. 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         203 


II 

The  enemy  yesterday  was  dropping  a  heavy  barrage  all 
along  our  line,  which  runs  south  of  Mouquet  Farm  and 
sweeps  below  the  village  of  Thiepval  and  its  wood. 

On  the  other  side  of  Thiepval  Wood  the  opposing  lines 
run  very  close  together,  and  here  there  was  not  much  shell- 
fire,  but  on  the  Pozieres  side  the  shell-bursts  and  smoke- 
clouds  were  drifting  up  and  down  in  a  steady,  regular  way. 
Our  own  guns  were  busy  with  Mouquet  Farm  (called  by 
our  soldiers  "Moo-cow"  Farm,  or  "Muckie"  Farm,  accord- 
ing to  their  whim),  and,  further  off,  with  Courcelette,  whose 
tall  factory  chimney  sticks  up  above  the  ridge,  and  now  and 
again  one  of  our  heavies  sent  a  great  shell  crashing  into 
Thiepval. 

There  were  no  German  soldiers  to  be  seen  in  that  village, 
and  no  sign  of  human  life  at  all.  It  is  a  ghastly-looking 
place,  with  its  stripped  trees,  like  withered  limbs,  and  a 
ruined  church  above  a  row  of  apple  trees,  which  stand  a 
little  separate  from  the  village. 

Above  is  a  cemetery  with  broken  tomb-stones  and  shell- 
craters  among  its  graves.  Beyond,  on  a  road  running  north- 
wards, is  a  tall  crucifix  with  the  figure  of  Christ  looking 
down  upon  all  this  death. 

In  the  trenches  no  man  puts  his  head  above  the  parapet. 
Several  times  one  of  our  machine-guns  spluttered  out  a  burst 
of  fire  as  a  warning  to  the  enemy  to  keep  well  down.  The 
only  movement  over  this  village  and  battlefield  was  made 
by  shells  which  tore  up  the  earth  and  sent  drifting  smoke 
clouds  across  the  ruins. 

The  doom  of  Thiepval  is  creeping  closer,  for  our  men  are 
advancing  slowly  but  surely  around  Mouquet  Farm,  so  that 
it  will  be  hemmed  in.  The  garrison  hiding  in  the  dug-outs 
below  those  broken  buildings  at  which  I  gazed  yesterday 
must  be  in  a  state  of  dreadful  apprehension.  I  should  not 
like  to  live  in  Thiepval. 


204  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


12 

August  20 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  understand  the  progress  of  our 
advance  since  July  i  without  being  familiar  with  the  ground 
over  which  this  has  been  made  and  the  local  conditions  of 
the  fighting  on  our  present  front. 

In  my  despatches  I  have  done  my  best  to  picture  these 
things  and  to  reveal  the  heroism  of  our  men  by  describing, 
as  realistically  as  one  may  without  being  tcx3  brutal  to 
newspaper  readers,  the  appalling  difficulties  they  have  to 
encounter.  Even  now  many  people  wonder,  I  daresay,  at  the 
various  pauses  in  the  victorious  progress  of  our  troops,  and 
look  forward,  day  by  day,  to  more  smashing  blows  and 
greater  strides  over  the  enemy's  ground. 

To  me  the  wonder  of  this  battle  is  that  we  should  have 
got  on  so  far  and  so  fast.  When  one  has  seen  the  network 
of  German  trenches,  their  great  systems  of  underground 
galleries — proof  against  the  heaviest  of  high  explosives — 
their  machine-gun  redoubts,  against  which,  if  even  only  one 
one  gun  is  left,  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  advance,  and  the 
power  of  their  artillery  able  to  barrage  a  strip  of  ground 
which  our  men  have  to  cross,  it  is  astounding  that  our  sol- 
diers could  have  forced  the  enemy  back  from  stronghold 
after  stronghold  and  gained  their  way  to  the  high  positions 
of  the  Pozieres  ridge. 

Take  those  men  of  ours  who  have  won  their  way  through 
a  maze  of  trenches  in  this  last  bit  of  fighting  between 
Pozieres  and  Thiepval. 

They  had  to  force  their  way  between  machine-gun  posts 
and  scramble  over  ground  which  is  like  a  billowy  sea  of 
earth  with  deep  pits  at  the  bottom  of  each  billow,  into  which 
many  of  them  stumbled  and  fell.  Not  good  going  for  an 
attack ! 

Then  they  had  to  storm  their  way  down  to  the  enemy's 
underground  system  of  galleries,  where  large  numbers  of 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         205 

strong  and  unwounded  Germans  were  waiting  with  stores 
of  bombs  and  every  kind  of  weapon. 

It  is  true  that  many  of  these  men  surrender  readily  at  the 
first  rush  of  our  troops,  but  if  those  dug-outs  are  not  cleaned 
out  at  once,  and  if  our  men  in  their  eagerness  go  on,  it  is 
quite  likely,  as  it  has  often  happened  during  the  past  six 
weeks,  that  the  enemy  will  come  up  and  attack  them  from 
the  rear. 

From  one  of  these  holes  in  the  ground  which  seemed  a 
simple  little  dug-out  there  came  up,  on  Friday,  as  I  have 
already  said,  six  officers  and  over  150  men.  I  saw  them  all 
to-day,  tall  fellows  with  unstained  uniforms  and  a  well-fed, 
fresh,  and  healthy  look. 

One  of  the  officers  was  quite  a  giant.  He  was  wearing 
a  steel  casque  of  the  German  pattern  which  is  very  much 
like  a  mediaeval  helm,  and  he  was  laughing  and  joking  with 
his  brother  officers  as  he  marched  at  the  head  of  his  com- 
pany. If  these  men  had  come  up  behind  English  assaulting 
parties  who  had  not  made  sure  of  the  dug-outs  first  they 
could  have  put  up  a  very  strong  fight,  and  with  one  machine- 
gun  might  have  done  great  damage. 

In  their  underground  galleries  they  had  lived  snugly  and 
safe,  sleeping  on  spring  beds,  reclining  on  upholstered  chairs, 
in  well-furnished  rooms  so  much  like  those  in  the  upper 
world  that  they  had  even  false  windows  draped  with  lace 
curtains. 

Our  men  have  to  fight  below  ground  as  well  as  above 
ground  before  they  are  in  possession  of  an  enemy  position. 

Above  ground  it  is  not  good  for  a  quick  advance.  Our 
guns  have  been  bombarding  so  continuously  that  although 
the  infantry  depends  utterly  upon  an  effective  artillery 
preparation,  and  not  in  vain,  the  effect  of  all  this  shell-fire 
impedes  their  progress  when  the  time  comes  to  cross  No 
Man's  Land. 

It  is  just  a  series  of  shell-craters  like  a  wide  stretch  of 
those  "trous-de-loup"  which  used  to  be  dug  in  the  old  days 
of  warfare  behind  the  "glacis,"  and  have  been  revived  again 


206  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

in  this  war,  which  has  adopted  every  device  known  to  fight- 
ing men  from  the  time  of  Cain  onwards. 


13 

When  some  of  the  Australians  "went  over"  the  other 
night  this  was  their  great  cause  of  trouble.  They  rushed 
forward  eagerly,  and  before  they  had  gone  fifty  yards  most 
of  them  had  fallen  into  shell-holes  deeper  than  their  own 
height.  It  was  pitch  dark,  except  for  the  white  light  of  the 
German  flares  rising  and  falling,  and  when  they  scrambled 
up  the  shelving  sides  of  the  craters  they  were  black  as  ink 
in  this  illumination  and  horribly  visible  to  the  German 
bombers  and  machine-gunners,  who  made  the  most  of  their 
opportunity  in  the  time  at  their  disposal. 

I  stood  by  a  man  to-day  who,  since  July  i,  has  been 
buried  alive  by  shell-bursts  upheaving  the  earth  about  him 
no  fewer  than  six  times. 

He  is  a  young  Australian  officer,  now  wounded  in  the 
back  and  leg,  and  he  assured  me  that  he  did  not  mind  this 
premature  burial  very  much. 

"There  is  mostly  a  little  air  to  breathe — enough  to  keep 
one  going  for  a  few  minutes — "  he  said,  "but,  of  course, 
it's  unpleasant  waiting  to  be  dug-out,  if  one  has  the  luck. 
Most  fellows  mind  it  very  much.  But  it  don't  afifect  me  in 
that  way." 

This  is  not  an  uncommon  experience.  There  are  a  lot  of 
men  buried  in  an  advance  when,  as  the  official  despatch  says, 
"We  made  good  progress."  So  that  progress  is  not  a  soft 
job  for  soldiers.  Then  the  German  is  beginning  to  leave  a 
lot  of  little  things  behind  him,  even  if  he  abandons  a  trench 
in  a  hurry.  This  is  a  new  dodge.  One  invention  which 
has  come  into  his  fertile  imagination  is  a  man  trap,  which 
he  sets  outside  his  parapet  or  inside  a  shell-hole  on  the  way 
to  it.     As  soon  as  one  of  our  soldiers  sets  foot  on  to  it  it 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         20T 

closes  about  his  leg  with  a  terrific  bite  and  brings  him  down 
like  a  log. 

Another  little  device  in  devilry  is  the  "tortoise  bomb." 
It  looks  very  much  like  a  tortoise  if  you  happen  to  see  it — 
which  you  don't,  in  the  dark — and  it  stands  on  four  little 
legs.  They  waggle  a  little,  but  should  it  be  unwarily  touched 
it  may  detonate  the  bomb  and  blow  a  man  to  bits. 

There  was  some  heroic  fighting  on  Friday  afternoon 
along  a  road  which  runs  from  High  Wood  to  Delville  Wood. 
The  heroes  of  this  fight  were  ordered  to  take  this  road  with 
troops  on  their  left  and  right,  and  in  spite  of  the  shell-holes 
on  the  way  and  heavy  machine-gun  fire  sweeping  down  on 
them  they  took  the  trench  all  right,  going  even  a  little  too 
far,  in  their  eagerness. 

Owing  to  casualties  in  officers,  the  sergeants  had,  in  some 
cases,  to  carry  on  the  command,  and  they  did  so  with  the 
calm  courage  of  old  soldiers.  The  German  trench,  bat- 
tered by  our  gun-fire,  was  full  of  dead,  and  littered  with 
rifles  and  equipment.  A  few  of  the  enemy  stayed  and 
fought  to  the  death,  and  others  ran  away.  Three  were 
dragged  up  out  of  a  dug-out  and  made  prisoners.  All 
looked  good,  from  a  fighting  point  of  view,  in  this  section 
of  the  trench,  and  would  have  been  good  if  the  men  on  the 
left  and  right  had  been  able  to  come  up.  But  they  were  not 
able  to  do  this,  and  presently  from  the  right  and  left  came 
parties  of  German  bombers,  hurling  their  grenades  at  our 
men,  who  hurled  back  until  every  one  of  their  bombs  was 
gone. 

Then  they  grubbed  about  for  German  bombs,  and  used 
those  until  they  could  find  no  more.  It  was  time  to  escape, 
and  the  way  out  was  through  a  narrow  sap  which  was  also 
a  death-trap  if  the  enemy  closed  about  it. 

But  the  enemy  did  a  strange  thing.  They  came  swarming 
up  on  both  sides,  and  each  side  took  the  other  for  English 
soldiers,  and,  in  the  dusk,  bombed  each  other  furiously  over 
the  heads  of  our  men,  who  slipped  away,  marvelling  at  their 
luck  in  ill-luck.    They  had  five  prisoners  when  they  reached 


208  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

their  own  lines,  for  they  were  joined  by  two  other  men  (in 
addition  to  the  three  from  the  dug-out),  one  of  whom  was 
a  German  hero — tired  of  heroism — wearing  the  Iron  Cross 
and  another  decoration. 

So  the  fighting  goes  on,  and  it  is  the  grit  of  our  troops, 
their  splendid  obstinacy,  their  refusal  to  be  beaten  by  shell- 
fire  or  shell-holes,  by  machine-guns  or  tortoise  bombs,  by 
poison  gas  or  tear  shells,  by  Germans  above  ground  or 
under  ground,  or  dropping  high  explosives  from  the  sky — 
"the  whole  blinking  bag  of  tricks,"  as  they  would  call  it, 
which  keeps  them  going  always  a  little  bit  further. 

Unless  one  knows  the  cost  of  victory  one  cannot  tell  the 
greatness  of  the  victors. 


14 

August  23 

We  are  getting  a  stronger  grip  upon  the  ridge  from 
Pozieres  to  High  Wood.  Last  night  the  Australians  gained 
a  little  more  ground,  so  that  they  have  pushed  out  a  line 
to  the  north-east  of  Mouquet  Farm,  and  the  Scottish  troops 
to  their  right  have  gained  another  hundred  yards  of  that 
famous  switch-line  into  which  I  took  a  walk  the  day  before 
yesterday  to  see  how  we  held  the  enemy's  last  line  of  de- 
fence on  the  way  to  Martinpuich. 

The  switch-line  exists  only  as  a  name,  and  in  reality  is 
nothing  but  a  series  of  shell-craters  in  which  our  men  have 
to  get  what  cover  they  can,  after  chasing  out  the  Germans, 
before  digging  and  strengthening  an  effective  trench. 

But  it  is  the  position  that  counts,  and  if  we  can  hold  it, 
as  I  am  now  certain  we  shall,  it  puts  the  enemy  at  a  great 
disadvantage,  of  which  our  guns  are  already  making  a  full 
and  terrible  use.  The  enemy's  endeavours  to  counter- 
attack— he  made  two  last  night — have  broken  down  under 
our  fire  with  great  bloodshed,  and  now  it  is  not  in  the  least 
likely  that  he  will  succeed  in  wresting  back  from  us  any 
of  the  high  ground. 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         209 

The  importance  of  the  position  is,  of  course,  entirely  one 
of  observation,  apart  from  the  tactical  importance  of  hav- 
ing driven  the  enemy  on  to  ground  beyond  his  first  and 
second  systems  of  trenches  and  dug-outs,  so  that  he  can  get 
no  strong  cover  until  he  retires  to  a  considerable  distance. 

It  gives  us  vantage  points  from  which  we  can  observe  his 
movements  down  the  slope,  rake  him  with  rifle  and  machine- 
gun  fire  if  he  sends  out  working  parties,  and  turn  the  guns 
on  to  him  with  direct  observation  of  results. 

One  of  the  immediate  effects  of  being  on  the  Pozieres 
ridge  was  seen  yesterday,  when  our  artillery  registered 
something  like  twenty-five  direct  hits  upon  some  of  the 
enemy's  batteries.    He  had  a  great  concentration  of  guns. 

Acting  in  connection  with  our  aviators,  who  are  always 
observing  from  high  places,  our  gunners  are  punishing  the 
enemy  in  a  very  frightful  way,  and  the  ground  above  Thiep- 
val  and  Courcelette,  into  which  I  looked  for  the  first  time 
at  close  range  from  the  switch  trench,  and  Martinpuich, 
and  the  barren  ground  to  the  right  of  it,  is  swept  by  our 
shell-fire. 

A  very  realistic  and  tragic  picture  of  what  is  happening 
down  there  beyond  the  high  ridge  is  given  in  a  letter  written 
on  August  10  by  a  German  officer  of  the  133rd  Infantry 
Regiment : 

"The  relief  yesterday,"  he  wrote,  ''is  incredible.  The 
route  taken — Ligny — Warlencourt — Pys — Courcelette,  on 
the  way  to  the  trenches  was  very  dangerous.  During  the 
first  part  the  thunder  of  the  guns  was  very  disagreeable, 
and  the  second  part  was  very  unsafe.  Heavy  shells  fell 
right  and  left  of  the  road.  Mounted  troops,  cars,  field  kitch- 
ens, infantry  in  column  of  route,  were  all  enveloped  in  an 
impenetrable  cloud  of  dust. 

"The  last  stage  consisted  of  troops  in  single  file  crouching 
on  the  slope  beside  the  road,  with  shells  bursting  overhead. 
Close  to  Courcelette  a  message  arrived :  'Enemy  firing  gas- 
shells,  on  with  your  gas  helmets.'  It  appeared  to  be  an 
error.     From  Courcelette  to  our  position  in  the  line  we 


210  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

relieved  across  the  open.  If  the  enemy  had  only  noticed 
that,  what  a  target  he  would  have  had ! 

"Our  position  was  of  course  quite  different  to  what  we 
had  been  told.  Our  company  alone  relieved  a  whole  bat- 
talion. We  had  been  told  we  were  to  relieve  a  company  of 
fifty  men  weakened  by  casualties.  The  men  we  relieved  had 
no  idea  where  the  enemy  was,  how  far  off  he  was,  or  if  any 
of  our  troops  were  in  front  of  us.  We  got  no  idea  of  our 
supposed  position  until  6  o'clock  this  evening. 

"To-night  I  am  taking  my  platoon  out  to  form  a  covering 
party.  My  men  and  I  are  to  lie  in  shell  holes  in  part  of 
an  old  demolished  trench  of  ours.  The  English  are  400 
metres  away.  The  Windmill  is  over  the  hill.  The  hun- 
dreds of  dead  bodies  make  the  air  terrible,  and  there  are  flies 
in  thousands.  About  300  metres  from  us  is  a  deserted  artil- 
lery position.  We  shall  have  to  look  to  it  to-night  not  to 
get  taken  prisoners  by  the  English.  We  have  no  dug-outs. 
We  dig  a  hole  in  the  side  of  a  shell  hole  and  lie  and  get 
rheumatism.  We  get  nothing  to  eat  or  drink.  .  .  .  The 
ceaseless  roar  of  the  guns  is  driving  us  mad.  Many  of  the 
men  are  knocked  up.  The  company  commander  thinks  we 
were  breathing  gas  yesterday,  which  slowly  decomposes  the 
blood,  and  this  is  an  end  of  one.  What  a  variety  of  ways 
one  can  lose  one's  life  in  this  place!  .  .  .  It  is  getting  light. 
I  must  start  on  my  way  back  to  the  front-line  trenches." 

From  another  man  in  the  3rd  battalion  of  the  124th  Regi- 
ment there  is  a  letter  which  pays  a  doleful  tribute  to  our 
flying  men. 

"I  am  on  sentry  duty,  and  it  is  a  very  hard  job,  for  I  dare 
not  move.  Overhead  are  the  English  airmen  and  in  front 
of  us  the  English  observers  with  telescopes,  and  as  soon  as 
they  perceive  anything,  then  twenty-four  'cigars'  arrive  at 
once,  and  larger  than  one  cares  to  see — you  understand  what 
I  mean.  The  country  round  me  looks  frightful.  Many 
dead  bodies  belonging  to  both  sides  lie  around." 

These  letters  give  the  other  side  of  the  pictures  which  I 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         211 

have  been  describing.    They  show  what  German  Hfe  is  Hke 
below  the  Pozieres  ridge. 

We  are  drawing  very  close  to  Thiepval,  and  standing 
yesterday  on  the  high  ground  to  the  right  of  the  Windmill 
by  Pozieres,  within  500  yards  of  Martinpuich,  I  could  see 
how  near  our  lines  have  been  pushed  to  both  these  places. 
Thiepval  I  have  seen  several  times  from  the  western  side,  but 
yesterday  I  stood  to  the  south-east  of  it  looking  straight 
across  the  cemetery  of  Pozieres  to  the  long  line  of  branch- 
less trees  and  broken  roofs  where  the  German  garrison 
awaits  its  certain  doom. 

That  doom  crept  a  little  nearer  last  evening  when  some  of 
our  English  troops  left  their  trenches  south  of  the  Leipzig 
Redoubt,  which  was  already  in  our  hands,  and  following  in 
the  wake  of  a  terrific  bombardment  on  a  short  line  of  the 
enemy's  position  took  that  section  quickly  by  assault.  I  saw 
the  steady  bombardment  of  the  ground  hereabouts  which 
was  continuous  throughout  the  afternoon,  but,  by  bad  luck, 
having  gone  to  another  part  of  the  line,  did  not  see  the 
attack  which  followed. 

It  was  a  highly  organised  and  grim  bit  of  work,  very 
quickly  done  and  with  few  casualties  on  our  side.  As  soon 
as  the  guns  had  lifted,  after  concentrated  fire  which  tore 
up  the  ground  and  made  an  utter  chaos  of  the  German  line 
of  trench,  our  men  followed.  They  went  over  in  two 
waves,  at  as  rapid  a  pace  as  possible  over  the  tumbled 
ground.  Then  they  went  through  the  broken  strands  of 
barbed  wire,  and  by  men  watching  them  from  a  little  dis- 
tance were  seen  to  drop  down  into  the  enemy's  trench. 

After  a  little  while — less  than  a  minute — the  result  of 
the  attack  was  seen  by  a  number  of  German  soldiers  com- 
ing out  of  the  shell-craters  with  their  hands  up.  A  little 
later  a  large  group  of  soldiers  ran  out  and  tried  to  escape. 
They  ran  as  though  the  devil  were  behind  them,  but  there 
was  a  devilish  fate  in  front  of  them,  for  they  plunged 
straight  into  a  heavy  fire  from  our  guns,  and  disappeared. 
In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  fight  was  over  and 


212  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

men  came  plodding  back  along  the  way  for  "walking 
wounded,"  and  the  Red  Cross  flag  could  be  seen  over  there 
in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  enemy  must  have  suffered  heavily.  Our  guns  caught 
them  during  a  relief,  which  means  that  there  was  a  double 
garrison,  resulting  in  a  double  number  of  killed,  wounded, 
and  prisoners.  Worse  still  for  them,  it  seems  likely  that  on 
their  way  up  to  the  lines  many  of  them  were  caught  in  the 
heavy  barrage  we  had  for  some  time  been  flinging  across 
their  route. 

Among  the  200  prisoners  taken  there  is  an  ex-waiter  of 
the  Savoy  Hotel,  who  says  that  he  is  thoroughly  sick  of 
the  war,  like  most  of  his  comrades,  and  that  Verdun,  from 
which  he  has  just  come,  is  a  heaven  compared  to  the  battle- 
fields of  Picardy. 

Some  time  after  our  assault  German  troops  were  observed 
to  be  massing  for  a  counter-attack  behind  the  captured 
position,  but  these  were  immediately  dispersed  by  our  artil- 
lery, and  no  attack  took  place  throughout  last  night. 

The  result  of  the  operation  is  that  we  now  hold  a  line 
straight  above  the  Leipzig  salient  and  striking  across  to  our 
trenches  south  of  Mouquet  Farm,  where  the  Australians 
made  an  attack  yesterday  to  push  further  forward  towards 
Thiepval. 

15 

The  successful  advance  south  of  the  Leipzig  Redoubt  was 
due  mainly  to  the  gallant  work  of  some  Territorial  troops 
who  attacked  a  maze  of  German  trenches  on  Friday  evening 
last,  carried  them  by  assault,  and  linked  up  with  the  redoubt 
itself,  already  in  our  hands  immediately  below  Thiepval, 
getting  a  closer  grip  at  the  throat  of  the  garrison  there. 

I  have  already  told  how  the  men  captured  the  great  dug- 
out and  took  nearly  600  prisoners.  They  were  men  of  the 
Royal  Warwicks,  who  did  that  great  achievement  with  ex- 
traordinarily slight  loss  to  themselves.     One  of  the  most 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         213 

thrilling  episodes  of  the  attack  was  when  they  were  held 
up  on  the  right  by  a  German  strong  point,  from  which  came 
a  stream  of  machine-gun  fire.  The  men  lay  down  in  front 
of  it,  and  held  on  until  our  own  Lewis  guns  could  get  to 
work.  Four  times  a  message  came  over  the  telephone  ask- 
ing whether  the  "heavies"  should  shell  the  place,  but  the 
colonel  was  afraid  that  his  men  would  be  hit,  and  refused 
the  offer  each  time.  Then  suddenly,  when  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  stop  that  deadly  scpirt  of  bullets,  the  German 
machine-gun  ceased  fire  and  a  white  flag  fluttered  up. 

The  colonel  of  the  Warwicks  expected  to  see  twenty  men 
come  out  of  that  bomb-proof  hiding-place.  To  his  amaze- 
ment there  emerged  six  officers,  and — not  150  men  (as  I 
think  I  said  in  my  last  despatch)  but  242  un wounded  Ger- 
mans and  six  "stretcher  cases."  There  were  many  acts  of 
great  individual  gallantry  among  the  Warwicks,  and  all 
were  splendid  under  the  fine  leadership  of  their  officers. 
One  sergeant  jumped  on  to  the  parados  of  a  German  trench 
and  kept  a  machine-gun  team  away  from  their  weapon  until 
our  bombing  party  could  arrive,  thereby  saving  the  lives  of 
many  Warwickshire  lads  and  helping  to  secure  victory. 

Further  along  the  trench  a  company  officer,  held  up  at  a 
"bomb-stop"  or  barricade,  called  for  a  rifle  and  fired  repeat- 
edly with  a  cool  aim  at  the  German  machine-gunners  on  the 
other  side,  with  two  men  by  him,  who  kept  refilling  his 
magazine,  and  bombers  behind  him  hurling  grenades  over 
his  shoulders. 

16 

Many  of  the  Germans  defended  themselves  stubbornly 
to  the  death.  A  sentry  standing  outside  one  of  the  dug- 
outs saw  our  men  approaching,  and,  turning  quickly, 
shouted  down  the  word  "England!"  to  his  comrades  below. 
One  of  the  Warwicks  who  was  closest  to  him  hurled  his 
last  bomb  at  him,  and  then,  seizing  the  man's  rifle,  sprang 
on  to  the  parapet  ready  to  shoot  the  enemy  as  they  came 


214  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

up.  They  came  up  in  a  swarm,  with  bombs,  and  there  was  a 
great  conflict  which  ended  only  when  the  last  German  was 
dead. 

In  one  dug-out  there  was  in  the  midst  of  all  this  horror  a 
comic  episode,  like  that  of  a  clown  in  tragedy.  A  curtain 
divided  the  dug-out,  and  a  Warwickshire  man  thrust  his 
bayonet  through  it.  Suddenly  the  curtain  was  drawn  on 
one  side  and  a  German  soldier,  yawning  loudly  and  rubbing 
his  eyes  with  the  knuckles  of  one  hand,  stood  there,  as 
though  to  say  "What's  up?"  He  had  slept  heavily  through 
the  bombardment  and  attack,  and  now  when  he  saw  the 
English  soldiers  facing  him,  believed  he  was  dreaming. 

So  the  Warwicks  took  400  yards  of  trenches  along  a 
front  of  600  yards  and  thrust  the  wedge  closer  to  Thiepval. 
Meanwhile,  in  the  centre  of  our  line  of  attack,  English  and 
Scots  and  Australian  troops  had  been  fighting  for  the  Ger- 
man switch-line  beyond  Bazentin-le-Petit,  the  newly  dug 
trench  which  the  enemy  had  made  feverishly  to  defend  the 
high  ridge  above  Pozieres,  but  could  not  hold.  They  were 
Scottish  troops  who  took  the  trench  opposite  Martinpuich, 
so  gaining  at  least  part  of  the  ground  for  which  we  have 
striven  since  July  i . 

17 

It  is  not  long  ago,  as  the  calendar  counts  time,  though  a 
lifetime  ago  for  many  thousands  of  men  who  have  fought 
along  the  road  to  Martinpuich,  since  that  village  with  a 
queer  name  seemed  as  unattainable  as  any  dream-city.  No 
man  of  ours,  except  our  flying  men,  had  ever  seen  it,  for 
it  lies  just  below  the  Pozieres  ridge,  and  before  the  battle 
opened  on  July  i  the  ridge  itself  was  a  high  and  distant 
barrier  defended  all  the  way  by  great  strongholds  like  Fri- 
court  and  Mametz  and  Contalmaison,  and  by  all  those  woods 
which  could  be  captured,  as  every  soldier  knew,  only  by  des- 
perate fighting. 

Now,  after  the  greatest  battle  in  British  history — a  series 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         216 

of  battles,  rather,  in  one  great  and  continuous  attack — we 
have  gained  that  ridge  above  Pozieres  and  the  Windmill, 
and,  pushing  up  to  this  German  switch-line,  look  down  the 
slopes  beyond. 

There,  only  500  yards  away  across  No  Man's  Land,  lies 
Martinpuich,  as  I  saw  it  myself  to-day  from  our  front-line 
trench,  surprised  that  one  could  see  so  close  into  its  ruins. 
To  my  left  as  I  stood  out  in  the  open,  above  the  trenches, 
was  the  windmill  for  which  the  Australians  have  fought — 
the  conical  base  of  it  being  all  that  is  left  as  a  memorial  of 
the  heroism  that  gained  this  ground,  and  behind  was 
Pozieres,  the  desolate,  shell-swept  ruin  which  is  linked  also, 
for  ever,  with  the  memory  of  those  boys  from  the  Overseas 
Dominion  who  gave  a  treasure  of  life  to  take  it. 

The  way  to  Martinpuich  is  truly  "The  Street  of  Adven- 
ture" for  hundreds  of  thousands  of  our  men  who  have 
fought  their  way  over  the  ground  about  it  since  that  first 
day  of  July  which  was  the  beginning  of  the  great  adventure. 

When  I  went  up  it  to-day,  further  than  I  have  ever  been 
before,  and  to  our  last  post  upon  it,  I  passed  all  the  places 
which  will  make  chapter-headings  in  any  history  of  the  war 
— the  scenes  of  all  the  big  battles  and  of  all  the  little  des- 
perate conflicts  which  have  been  fought  along  this  wing 
from  ditch  to  ditch,  in  every  tiny  copse,  in  every  bit  of 
broken  woodland.  It  is  a  road  of  immortality.  Alas !  also 
of  great  death — as  one  sees  all  along  the  way — past  Fricourt 
and  Contalmaison,  over  ground  dotted  with  new-made 
graves,  where  white  wooden  crosses  stick  up  above  the 
mounds  of  earth,  everywhere.  Amidst  the  torn  tree-stumps, 
now  very  neat  in  all  the  upheaval  of  these  fields  flung  into 
chaos  by  gun-fire,  now  clustering  thickly  about  piles  of 
broken  brickwork  which  are  still  called  by  their  old  village- 
names  are  crosses — crosses  and  graves. 

Many  of  those  graves  are  the  size  of  one  man's  bed,  but 
others  are  broad  mounds  into  which  many  bodies  have  been 
laid,  with  taller  crosses,  to  the  remembrance  of  all  of  them, 
such  as  that  'To  the  memory  of  the  N.C.O.'s  and  men  of 


216  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  —  Border  Regiment  who  fell  in  action  at  this  spot  on 
the  1st  of  July,  1916."  Many  of  them  are  to  unknown 
British  soldiers  who  could  not  be  identified,  but  whose  names 
are  on  the  long  roll-call  of  honour. 


18 

On  the  road  to  Martinpuich  we  passed  up  by  Lonely 
Copse — just  a  few  "strafed"  trees — and  by  Lozenge  Wood 
and  the  Dingle  and  Birch  Tree  Wood,  and  Peake  Wood, 
and  Acid  Drop  Copse.  Do  you  remember  the  names  ?  Men 
fought  ferociously  to  get  these  places,  our  artillery  regis- 
tered on  them,  and  I  saw  them  in  the  first  days  of  July  under 
tempests  of  shell-fire.  Now  they  can  be  found  only  by  a 
few  charred  sticks,  a  few  black  gibbets,  standing  above 
heaps  of  ashes  and  the  bones  and  dust  of  men. 

Contalmaison,  the  capital  of  the  woodlands,  is  on  higher 
ground,  and  is  still  the  target  of  German  bombardments, 
as  it  was  our  target  when  I  saw  it  first.  Most  of  its  red- 
brick chateau  was  standing  when  I  looked  into  its  windows 
one  day  from  an  artillery  O.  Pip  and  saw  one  of  its  towers 
shot  away  by  one  of  our  15-inch  shells,  as  cleanly  as  one 
could  cut  a  slice  out  of  a  cake.  Now  all  that  is  left  of  the 
chateau  is  a  broken  wall  or  two,  rose  coloured  except  where 
the  bricks  are  blackened  by  fire,  standing  in  the  midst  of 
great  shell-craters  and  solid  waves  of  earth  and  ash-coloured 
tree-trunks  all  hurled  about. 

A  devilish  place  is  Contalmaison  now,  and  when  I  walked 
through  it  yesterday  the  foul  horror  of  it  reeked  about  me. 
In  the  night  the  Germans  had  flung  thousands  of  gas-shells 
into  it,  and  the  stench  was  still  prowling  about,  stealing  out 
of  crannies  and  shell-holes  with  faint,  sickly  whiffs  as 
though  from  rotten  eggs.  And  the  smell  of  corruption  came 
up  from  all  the  litter  of  battle  lying  there.  .  .  . 

We  went  beyond  Contalmaison,  and  were  glad  to  leave  it, 
for  the  enemy's  shells  were  bursting  over  it,  and  round  by 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         Ul 

Bazentin-le-Petit  Wood,  thinned  out  by  successive  storms 
of  shell-fire  to  the  mere  ghost  of  a  wood,  with  the  light 
striking  through  its  leprous-looking  trunks,  where  many  un- 
buried  dead  lie  among  the  broken  trenches.  The  ground 
rose  gradually  past  Contalmaison  Villa,  which  stood  far 
beyond  the  village  itself,  as  the  country  house  of  some 
French  gentleman  who  will  never  see  it  again  except  in  dust 
and  ashes,  and  here  we  were  out  in  the  centre  of  the  battle- 
ground, where  our  men  are  now  fighting  between  the  wind- 
mill of.  Pozieres  and  High  Wood,  on  the  farthest  line  of 
our  advance. 

The  battle  was  going  on,  as  it  goes  on  all  through  the 
days  and  nights,  with  never-ceasing  gun-fire.  The  infernal 
tumult  of  it  was  all  around  us,  and  death  was  everywhere 
for  any  man  whose  luck  had  run  out.  Lord  God  in  heaven ! 
If  a  man  had  any  kind  of  prayer  in  his  soul,  or  any  special 
form  of  curse  for  those  who  made  this  war,  his  lips  should 
mutter  it  in  a  place  like  this. 

It  was  into  the  famous  switch  trench  which  has  been 
the  goal  of  great  endeavour  since  July  14,  when  our  troops 
broke  the  German  second  line,  that  we  went  through  other 
trenches  after  the  long  walk  in  the  open,  and  looked  at  last 
into  Martinpuich,  first  below  the  high  ridge.  Merely  to  see 
it  was  the  supreme  proof  of  the  greatest  achievement  in 
arms  ever  done  by  British  soldiers.  To  get  as  far  as  this, 
to  capture  the  high  ground  where  we  now  stood,  behind 
earth  and  sandbags,  looking  down  into  the  valley  beyond, 
our  men  have  stormed  many  strongholds,  fought  through 
all  the  ghastly  woodlands  from  Fricourt  and  Bazentin  and 
High  Wood,  and  many  have  fallen  all  along  the  road  to 
Martinpuich. 

The  village  itself  is  just  like  any  of  all  those  ruins  which 
have  been  smashed  to  bits  in  this  poor  France.  There  was 
no  sign  of  human  life  there  among  the  broken  buildings. 


218  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

But  there  was  human  life,  though  I  could  not  see  it,  in  the 
500  yards  of  No  Man's  Land  between  our  first  line  and  the 
village. 

In  the  deep  shell-craters  here,  as  thick  as  holes  in  a  sieve, 
there  are  still  some  German  soldiers  living.  They  have  no 
kind  of  trench,  for  there  is  nothing  but  open  ground  before 
us  for  1,000  yards,  now  that  we  have  taken  the  German 
switch-line,  but  in  these  holes  they  hide  themselves  at  night 
and  snipe  our  men  by  day.  They  are  fellows  who  have  been 
sent  out  to  hold  the  ground  as  much  as  possible  before  they 
are  dead  or  captured,  and  their  officers  never  expect  to  see 
them  again.  When  our  guns  barrage  this  stretch  of  barren 
land  they  can  be  seen  hopping  from  one  shell-hole  to  an- 
other, and  it  is  then  the  turn  of  our  snipers.  They  brought 
down  thirty-five  the  first  day,  after  taking  the  switch-line, 
and  about  as  many  two  days  ago. 

More  valuable  than  a  German  prisoner — for  what's  the 
value  in  this  war  of  one  man's  life? — was  the  German  ma- 
chine-gun brought  in  a  day  or  two  ago  from  the  ground 
outside  Martinpuich,  where  it  lay  half-buried,  but  so  un- 
damaged that  it  is  now  used  against  the  enemy  with  his  own 
cartridge  belts.  Other  queer  things  have  been  brought  back. 
Two  days  after  the  capture  of  the  switch-line  our  soldiers 
saw  two  men  waving  out  there  in  No  Man's  Land,  and  get- 
ting their  glasses  on  to  them  saw  that  they  were  wounded 
Englishmen.  A  party  of  Scots  crawled  out  and  brought 
them  in,  as  during  the  same  day  they  had  carried  back  a 
number  of  German  wounded  lying  about  in  the  shell-holes 
close  to  our  own  line. 

The  real  wonder  of  our  men  is  only  to  be  seen  in  such 
places  as  this.  On  these  battlefields,  under  shell-fire,  they 
were  working  as  calmly  as  though  they  were  building  sand 
castles  on  the  English  seaside.  Behind  them  lay  many  of 
their  dead. 

I  could  track  my  way  by  the  blood  that  splashed  the  walls 
of  the  trenches,  to  the  place  where  an  amateur  medico 
patches  up  the  bodies  of  broken  men  in  a  hole  in  the  ground. 


THE  HIGH  GROUND  AT  POZIERES         219 


20 


The  ground  over  which  I  walked  with  a  young  Scottish 
officer — who  has  no  emotion  at  all  about  such  things  be- 
cause since  he  went  first  into  Loos  he  has  lived  cheek  by 
iowl  with  death  so  that  any  fear  he  may  have  had  is  killed 
by  habit — was  nothing  but  one  great  stretch  of  shell-craters. 
There  was  not  one  yard  of  ground  into  which  a  shell  had 
not  fallen,  over  thousands  of  yards.  Some  of  them  were 
small  shells  making  small  craters,  others  were  heavy  shells 
which  had  made  enormous  pits,  and  the  rim  of  one  crater 
met  the  rim  of  another,  or  mingled.  And,  as  we  walked, 
the  sky  above  our  heads  was  filled  with  shells  continuing 
this  work,  flinging  up  the  earth  again  into  new  hills  and 
hollows. 

From  our  own  batteries  far  away  behind  us  there  came  a 
steady  bombardment  of  the  German  ground  just  beyond 
us,  and  the  shells  passed  overhead  with  that  indescribable 
sound  which  is  half  a  scream  and  half  a  sigh,  enormous  in 
the  volume  of  its  noise.  But  those  sounds  were  comforting 
compared  with  others,  which  were  coming  overhead.  They 
were  coming  from  the  enemy's  side  with  a  savage  over- 
whelming roar,  which  ended  in  a  rending  explosion. 

"Eight  inch,"  said  the  young  Scot  by  my  side.  "Heavy 
stufif." 

It  is  surprising  what  effect  an  eight-inch  shell  can  have 
in  the  way  of  upheaval.  But  one's  sensation  is  not  that  of 
surprise  when  fifty  yards  away,  or  less,  a  mass  of  field  is 
suddenly  lifted  skyward  and  a  smoke-cloud  as  large  as  a 
cathedral  stands  there  strangely  solid  in  the  wind.  The 
whole  field  of  battle  about  us  was  vomiting  up  these  things, 
and  it  was  damnable. 


XXIII 
THE  GERMANS'  SIDE  OF  THE  SOMME 


I 

August  9 
I  HAVE  not  been  across  to  the  enemy's  side  of  the  Hne  (ex- 
cept when  it  has  been  broken  by  our  guns  and  men),  and  I 
have  no  intention  of  following  the  example  of  a  friend  of 
mine  who  deliberately  tried  to  get  across  to  them  in  search 
of  information.  But  now  and  again  it  is  possible  to  get  a 
mental  glimpse  of  how  the  enemy  lives  and  works  and 
thinks  behind  the  barbed  wire  and  the  ditches  and  the  ma- 
chine-gun redoubts  which  make  up  his  defensive  system. 

I  mean  the  enemy's  fighting  men,  and  not  all  those  people 
in  Germany  who  starve  on  false  promises  and  grow  sick 
with  hope  deferred,  and  count  up  the  number  of  their 
dead,  and  still  say,  with  a  resolute  pride,  "At  least — we 
cannot  be  beaten." 

From  talks  with  prisoners,  and  explorations  of  German 
dug-outs,  and  the  reading  of  captured  documents,  and  many 
days  spent  (before  the  battles  of  the  Somme)  in  our  own 
trenches  from  which  through  a  loophole  or  a  tuft  of  grass 
I  have  looked  over  to  the  German  lines  and  seen,  not  often, 
but  several  times,  German  soldiers  moving  about  in  work- 
ing parties,  and  German  infantry  marching  down  a  hillside 
over  2,000  yards  away,  I  have  been  able  to  conjure  up  a 
fair  answer  to  questions  which  have  often  come  into  my 
head :  "What  are  the  fellows  doing  over  the  way  ?  What 
are  they  thinking  about  and  talking  about?  What  does  it 
look  like  behind  their  lines?  And  how  do  their  methods 
and  their  moral  differ  from  our  own?" 


THE  GERMAN  SIDE  OF  THE  SOMME        221 

Since  the  beginning  of  our  attack  on  July  i  I  have  gained 
some  later  information  about  those  things,  and  it  seems  to 
me  interesting  to  put  down  a  few  of  the  facts,  so  that  people 
at  home  may  know  more  about  the  enemy  than  they  seem 
to  know. 


There  is  no  doubt  at  all  that  as  a  fighting  man  the  German 
knows  his  business  thoroughly,  and  performs  it  with  great 
skill,  courage,  and  discipline.  He  has  had  the  advantage  of 
us  in  an  enormous  reserve  of  highly-trained  officers  and  non- 
commissioned officers,  and  although  the  advantage  is  rapidly 
disappearing,  because  after  two  years  of  war  we  are  getting 
large  numbers  of  the  same  class  of  men  and  he  is  losing 
and  has  lost  a  great  mass  of  them  by  death  and  wounds,  he 
still  has,  I  imagine,  more  than  enough  for  his  needs. 

Now,  and  to  the  end  of  the  war  ( for  he  is  careful  to  keep 
his  best  brains  out  of  danger),  he  can  call  upon  a  great 
store  of  professional  and  scientific  knowledge  to  direct  the 
machinery  of  this  business  of  destruction  and  defence,  and 
to  organise  the  lives  of  his  machine-made  men. 

In  minute  detail  of  organisation,  and  in  a  driving  industry 
behind  it,  the  German  High  Command  is  masterly,  and 
there  is  not  a  soldier  in  the  Kaiser's  armies  who  is  not  well- 
equipped  (down  to  the  "housewife"  full  of  pins  and  needles, 
cotton,  buttons,  and  thread,  which  he  carries  in  his  pouch) 
and  well-fed,  unless  our  guns  do  not  permit  his  supplies 
to  come  up. 

Enormous  attention  is  paid  to  the  moral  of  the  men,  by 
organising  concerts,  religious  services,  and  beer-parties  be- 
hind the  lines,  so  that  they  shall  be  kept  cheerful  until  they 
die,  and  the  news  of  the  world,  as  we  all  know,  is  specially 
edited  for  them  with  that  point  of  view  in  mind. 

But  the  German  High  Command  is  careful  of  the  lives  of 
its  men  until  the  day  comes  when  they  have  to  be  flung 


222  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

ruthlessly  forward,  in  wave  after  wave,  against  the  guns  of 
the  Allies. 

Again  and  again  I  have  described  the  spaciousness  and 
the  depth  and  comfort  of  the  German  dug-outs.  That  is 
part  of  the  system  of  life-saving,  and  the  divisional  com- 
manders set  their  men  to  work  and  keep  them  at  work  in  a 
way  which  our  men  would  call  slave-driving. 

I  have  described  those  at  Montauban  and  Fricourt  as  I 
saw  them  immediately  after  their  capture,  and  after  the 
bombardment  which  crumpled  up  all  the  trenches  about 
them,  but  left  them,  for  the  most  part,  solid  and  untouched. 


3^ 

At  Ovillers  they  are  even  more  elaborate,  some  of  them 
having  six  or  eight  rooms  communicating  with  each  other, 
and  two  separate  storeys — rooms  as  large  as  fifteen  feet  by 
thirty  feet,  furnished  with  spring  beds,  carpets,  washing 
arrangements  with  water  laid  on,  electric  light,  tapestries  to 
keep  out  the  draughts,  and  other  luxuries.  One  of  the 
dug-outs  at  Ovillers  has  nine  entrances,  with  beds  for  no 
men,  thirty  feet  below  the  surface,  and  with  a  cook-house 
containing  three  big  boilers. 

But  it  is  not  only  in  the  trenches  and  in  places  like  Ovillers 
that  the  Germans  dig  so  industriously.  Far  behind  their 
lines,  wherever  our  long-range  guns  can  reach  them,  they 
have  these  elaborate  subterranean  shelters,  deeper  and 
stronger  than  most  of  ours,  and  with  much  greater  accom- 
modation. It  means  incessant  work  in  addition  to  all  the 
work  which  keeps  our  own  soldiers  busy  night  and  day. 

But  it  is  work  that  saves  life,  and  the  Germans  do  not 
begrudge  it,  and  have  no  special  pride  in  taking  risks.  That 
is  good  generalship  and  good  soldiering.  But  it  does  not 
save  them.  Some  of  our  officers  are  apt  to  imagine — I  con- 
fess it  was  in  my  own  imagination  for  a  time — that  the 
German  was  so  snug  in  these  burrows  of  his  that  our  bom- 


THE  GERMAN  SIDE  OF  THE  SOMME        223 

bardments  in  normal  times  without  infantry  attacks  to 
follow,  did  not  cause  him  many  casualties. 

The  truth  is  that  continuous  artillery  fire,  such  as  ours  has 
been,  is  frightfully  destructive  of  human  life,  and  that  no 
amount  of  digging  will  safeguard  it.  Transports  must  move 
along  the  roads.  Men  must  go  up  communication  trenches. 
Working  parties  must  come  out  into  the  open. 

During  all  the  month  that  our  artillery  has  been  increas- 
ing its  weight  of  metal  and  the  number  of  rounds  fired,  the 
Germans,  therefore,  have  been  suffering  great  losses,  and 
the  strain  upon  the  nerves  and  moral  of  the  men  has  been 
severe. 

This  is  certain  not  only  from  the  statements  of  German 
soldiers  brought  into  our  lines,  but  from  new  instructions 
issued  as  late  as  July  i6,  which  refer  to  the  treatment  of 
the  great  numbers  of  wounded,  and  the  terrible  conditions 
of  the  present  fighting.  Significant  sentences  reveal  the 
truth  of  things  behind  the  German  lines,  and  again  the 
organising  minds  which  try  to  better  them,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible : 

"As  the  circumstances  of  the  present  fighting  do  not  as  a 
rule  permit  of  a  dressing  station  being  established  near  the 
fighting  troops,  the  wounded  must  at  any  rate  be  taken  to 
places  which  are  easy  to  find,  easy  to  describe,  and  easy  to 
recognise. 

"Companies  must  inform  battalions,  and  battalions  regi- 
ments, where  the  wounded  are  to  be  found,  and  how  many 
there  are  to  remove. 

"They  can  as  a  rule  only  be  moved  at  night.  The 
stretcher-bearers  who  come  to  fetch  them  generally  waste  a 
good  deal  of  time  in  searching  for  the  wounded,  and  some- 
times do  not  find  them  if  they  are  not  assisted  by  the  unit 
which  has  been  engaged. 

"The  nights  are  short  for  carrying  out  these  large  evacu- 
ations. 

"I  have  already  reminded  units  that  troops  which  are 
relieved  should  carry  their  wounded  with  them."     That 


224  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

reveals  a  tragic  picture  of  the  enemy's  losses.  It  is  empha- 
sised again  that  many  of  the  wounded  are  not  found,  and 
suggestions  are  made  that  pieces  of  canvas  dipped  in  lumi- 
nous paint  might  be  used  to  indicate  the  whereabouts  of  the 
wounded,  or  white  canvas  cut  into  the  form  of  a  cross. 

The  German  mind  is  busy  with  the  problem  of  its  dead 
also.  The  enemy  goes  to  great  risk  and  trouble  to  remove 
the  dead  from  the  fields  because  the  living  men  who  follow 
are  disheartened  and  terrified  by  the  sight  of  so  many 
corpses  on  their  way. 

Search  parties  are  sent  out  under  shell-fire  to  collect  them, 
even  though  many  of  the  searchers  may  join  the  dead,  and 
the  bodies  are  put  into  mortuary  chambers  like  one  found 
by  us  the  other  day  at  Pozieres. 

It  was  filled  with  dead  bodies  waiting  to  be  taken  away  on 
a  light  railway  which  runs  up  to  the  place,  but  the  enemy's 
artillery  fired  upon  this  mortuary  and  set  it  on  fire,  as 
though  they  were  more  jealous  of  their  dead  than  of  the  liv- 
ing who  were  our  prisoners. 


I  have  said  that  they  keep  their  best  brains  out  of  danger. 
This  is  true,  even  when  the  brains  are  second-best.  It  is 
very  seldom  that  any  officer  over  the  rank  of  a  captain  is 
found  in  the  front-line  trenches,  and  officers  of  higher  rank 
remain  well  in  the  background.  Lately,  during  our  attack, 
orders  have  been  given  that  officers  and  N.C.O.'s  command- 
ing companies  and  platoons  should  visit  their  trenches  at 
night  "so  that  the  men  may  see  or  hear  their  commanders." 
It  is  all  very  naive,  and  reveals  that  curious  lack  of  humour 
which  characterises  the  German  war-lord. 

"The  men,"  say  these  instructions,  "should  be  instructed 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  their  commanding  officer,  and 
know  where  to  go  if  they  feel  that  they  require  inspiring 
with  courage.  To  stimulate  courage  and  to  foster  the 
feeling  of  confidence  and  the  spirit  of  resistance  these  should 


THE  GERMAN  SIDE  OF  THE  SOMME        225 

be  the  first  duties  of  an  officer  in  the  front  line,  at  all  events 
in  the  present  circumstances.  Courage  rather  than  tactful 
theory  is  the  essence  of  a  true  leader." 

To  give  their  inen  courage,  in  hours  when  these  German 
soldiers,  who  air  brave  men,  might  well  give  way  to  terror, 
the  German  ch  .nists  have  manufactured  tabloids  which 
drug  them  with  a  kind  of  frenzy.  There  is  no  doubt  of 
this,  which  sometimes  I  have  doubted,  because  many  of 
these  drugs  were  found  by  a  friend  of  mine — the  medical 
officer  of  the  Kentish  men  who  helped  to  take  the  trenches 
north  of  Pozieres  a  few  days  ago. 

They  contained  ether  and  opium  in  sufficient  quantity  to 
intoxicate  the  strongest  man.  In  the  German  opinion  it  is 
good  stuff  before  a  counter-attack. 

German  organisation  is  remarkably  good.  It  does  not 
neglect  the  spiritual  or  the  physical  side  of  their  soldiers.  It 
provides  them  with  song-books  and  prayer-books  as  well  as 
with  food  and  drink. 

It  has  never  revealed  a  shortage  of  shells.  Its  gunners 
are  full  of  science  and  wonderfully  quick  to  get  on  to  their 
targets  when  the  infantry  calls  for  help  by  sending  up 
signals  of  distress. 

In  all  the  mechanics  of  war  and  in  the  fine  art  of  keeping 
up  the  pride  of  men  the  German  war  lords  and  high  officers 
show  real  genius.  But  they  cannot  bring  dead  men  to  life 
nor  hide  the  agonies  of  all  their  wounded,  nor  blink  the  fact 
that  British  troops  have  broken  their  second  line,  and  ham- 
mered them  with  terrific  blows  and  reached  out  far  with 
long-range  guns  to  destroy  them  behind  their  lines. 

They  live  in  many  ruins  as  bad  as  Ypres — French  ruins, 
alas! — and  I  know  that,  on  the  eve  of  our  great  attack,  all 
instructions  were  prepared  for  a  general  retreat,  with  every 
detail  ready  in  case  our  troops  should  break  through  on  a 
wide  front. 

That  is  a  confusion  of  deep  apprehension.  It  shows  that 
they  are  envisaging  defeat  and  preparing  for  it — wisely 
enough — in  case  of  need.    It  is  a  state  of  mind  not  expressed 


226  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

in  an  Order  of  the  Day  issued  by  the  German  Emperor  a 
few  days  ago  and  found  on  a  German  officer  captured  to  the 
north  of  Pozieres: 

"To  the  leaders  of  the  troops  of  the  First  Army,"  says 
the  Kaiser,  "I  express  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  my 
deep  appreciation  and  my  Imperial  gratitude  for  the  splen- 
did achievement  in  warding  off  the  Anglo-French  mass 
attacks  of  the  30th  of  July.  They  have  accomplished  with 
German  faithfulness  what  I  and  their  country  expected 
from  them. 

"God  help  them  further. 

(Signed)  "Wilhelm  I.R." 

Since  then  the  ground  to  the  north  of  Pozieres  has  been 
captured,  and  to-day  there  has  been  fierce  fighting  and  fur- 
ther progress  made  by  British  troops  towards  Guillemont. 
God  has  not  helped  them  it  seems. 

Behind  the  German  lines,  in  spite  of  the  Kaiser's  grati- 
tude for  the  courage  of  his  troops — a  courage  which  we 
must  not  belittle,  for  it  is  great — men  are  thinking  gloomily 
and  wondering  when  all  the  agony  of  this  great  war,  which 
holds  no  victory  for  Germany,  will  have  an  ending,  after  all 
their  blood  and  all  their  tears. 


XXIV 
THE  ATTACK  ON  THIEPVAL 


I 

August  25 
The  doom  of  Thiepval  is  near  at  hand.  By  a  series  of 
small,  sharp  attacks,  in  short  rushes,  after  enormous  shell- 
fire,  our  troops  have  forged  their  way  across  a  tangled  web 
of  trenches  and  redoubts  until  now  they  are  just  below  the 
row  of  apple  trees  which  still  show  a  broken  stump  or  two 
below  the  southern  end  of  the  village.  They  have  bitten  off 
the  nose  of  the  Leipzig  salient,  and  yesterday  I  saw  them 
take  the  Hindenburg  trench  and  its  strong  point,  which  is 
almost  the  last  of  the  defensive  works  barring  our  way  to 
the  south  entrance  of  the  village  fortress. 

On  the  west  our  trenches  have  been  dug  for  some  time 
through  Thiepval  Wood,  within  four  hundred  yards  of  this 
place,  and  on  the  east  they  have  been  pushed  forward  to 
the  left  of  Mouquet  Farm ;  so  that  we  have  thrown  a  lasso, 
as  it  were,  around  the  stronghold  on  the  hill,  from  which  its 
garrison  has  only  one  way  of  escape — by  way  of  the  Cruci- 
fix, northwards,  where  our  guns  will  get  them.  That  gar- 
rison is  in  a  death-trap.  The  German  soldiers  in  Thiepval 
must  be  praying  for  the  end  to  come. 

As  ,1  stood  watching  the  place  yesterday,  from  a  trench 
only  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  it  seemed  to  me  astounding 
and  terrible  that  men  should  still  be  living  there.  I  could 
see  nothing  of  the  village  for  there  is  next  to  nothing  left 
of  it— nothing  at  all  but  heaps  of  rubbish  which  were  once 
the  roofs  and  walls  of  houses.  But  on  the  sky-line  at  the  top 
of  a  ridge  which  slopes  up  from  the  Leipzig  salient  there 

227 


228  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

still  stand  a  hundred  trees  or  so,  which  are  all  that  is  left 
of  Thiepval.  They  stood  black  and  gaunt  against  the  blue 
sky,  without  a  leaf  on  their  broken  branches,  and  all  charred. 
The  brown  hummocks  of  the  German  trench-lines  encircled 
them,  with  narrow  strips  of  grass,  vividly  green,  between 
these  earthworks  and  below,  falling  away  to  our  own  lines, 
a  turmoil  of  upheaved  soil  where  a  maze  of  trenches  had 
been  made  shapeless  by  incessant  shell-fire. 

All  through  the  afternoon,  as  all  through  the  morning, 
and  the  mornings  and  afternoons  of  many  yesterdays,  our 
guns  were  firing  in  a  steady,  leisurely  way,  one  shell  every 
minute  or  two,  at  the  ground  marked  out  by  the  black  tree- 
stumps.  They  were  mostly  the  shells  of  our  "heavies"  firing 
from  long  range,  so  that  for  several  seconds  one  could  hear 
the  long  voyage  of  each  shell,  listen  to  the  last  fierce  rush 
of  it  over  our  heads,  and  then  see,  before  the  roar  of  the 
explosion,  a  vast  volume  of  smoke  and  earth  vomit  up  from 
the  place  between  the  trees,  or  just  below,  the  line  of  trees 
where  the  enemy's  trenches  lay. 

A  friend  of  mine,  sitting  on  some  sand-bags  with  his  steel 
helmet  just  below  the  tops  of  some  tall  thistles  which  gave 
friendly  cover  in  our  fore-ground  above  the  parapet,  said 
"Beautiful!"  every  time  there  was  a  specially  big  cloud- 
burst. He  is  such  a  hater  of  war  that  his  soul  follows  each 
shell  of  ours  with  a  kind  of  exultation  so  that  it  shall  help 
to  end  it  quickly.  But  I  kept  thinking  of  the  fellows  below 
there,  under  that  shell-fire. 

It  was  only  previous  knowledge,  explorations  in  German 
dug-outs,  talks  with  men  who  have  come  living  out  of  such 
bombardments,  that  made  me  still  believe  that  there  were 
men  alive  in  Thiepval,  and  that  before  we  take  the  place 
they  may  fight  desperately  and  keep  machine-gims  going  to 
the  last.  There  was  not  a  human  soul  to  be  seen,  and  the 
earth  was  being  flung  up  in  masses ;  but  underground  a 
garrison  of  German  soldiers  was  sitting  in  deep  cellars,  try- 
ing to  turn  deaf  ears  to  the  crashes  above  them,  try- 
ing to  hide  the  terror  in  their  souls,  a  terror  invading  all 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  229 

their  courage  icily,  and  looking  into  the  little  mirrors  of 
long  periscopes  which  showed  them  the  vision  of  things 
above  ground,  and  the  stillness  of  the  British  trenches,  from 
which  at  any  minute  there  might  come  waves  of  men  on  a 
new  attack. 


With  a  few  others  in  the  trench  where  I  stood  I  knew 
that  our  men  were  to  make  another  bound  yesterday  after- 
noon, though  not  the  exact  time  of  it.  For  nearly  two  hours 
I  watched  the  bombardment,  steady  and  continuous,  but  not 
an  intense  fire  from  all  available  batteries,  and  every  few 
minutes  I  looked  at  my  wrist-watch  and  wondered  "Will  it 
begin  now?"  Down  below  me  was  the  hummocky  track 
of  our  front-line  trenches,  in  which  the  attacking  parties  had 
assembled.  Only  now  and  again  could  I  see  any  movement 
there. 

In  our  own  trench  some  signallers  were  carrying  down  a 
new  wire,  whistling  as  they  worked.  A  forward  observing 
officer  was  watching  the  shell-bursts  through  a  telescope 
resting  on  the  parapet  and  giving  messages  to  a  telephone 
operator  who  sat  hunched  at  the  bottom  of  the  trench  with 
his  instrument.  A  couple  of  young  officers  came  along 
jauntily,  swearing  because  "these  silly  asses" — whoever  they 
might  be — ^"never  tell  you  where  they  are."  An  artillery 
officer  came  along  for  a  chat,  and  remarked  that  it  was  a 
fine  day  for  a  football  match. 


It  was  a  day  when  the  beauty  of  France  is  like  a  song  in 
one's  heart,  a  day  of  fleecy  clouds  in  the  blue  sky,  of  golden 
sunlight  flooding  broad  fields  behind  the  battle  lines,  where 
the  wheat-sheaves  are  stacked  in  neat  lines  by  old  men  and 
women,  who  do  their  sons'  work,  and  of  deep,  cool  shadows 
under  the  wavy  foliage  of  the  woodlands. 


230  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

Behind  us  was  a  ruined  village,  and  German  shells  were 
falling  into  the  corner  of  a  wood  not  far  away  to  our  left, 
but  the  panorama  of  the  French  countryside  beyond  the  edge 
of  the  battlefield  was  full  of  peace.  Above  our  heads  some 
British  aeroplanes  came  flying,  and  the  hum  of  their  engines 
was  like  big  bees  buzzing.  They  flew  straight  over  the  Ger- 
man lines,  and  presently  the  sky  about  them  was  dotted  with 
white  puffs  of  shrapnel,  and  above  the  noise  of  the  guns 
there  was  the  high  "ping!"  of  the  German  "Archies,"  as 
each  shell  reached  up  to  those  soaring  wings,  but  failed  to 
bring  them  down. 

Another  officer  came  along  the  trench  and  said  "Good 
afternoon!  The  show  begins  in  ten  minutes." 

The  "show"  is  the  name  soldiers  give  to  a  battle. 

By  my  watch  it  was  longer  than  ten  minutes  before  the 
"show"  began.  The  leisurely  bombardment  continued  in  the 
same  way.  Now  and  again  a  German  "crump"  replied,  like 
an  elaborate  German  guttural.  Then  suddenly,  as  though 
at  the  tap  of  a  baton,  a  great  orchestra  of  death  crashed 
out.  It  is  absurd  to  describe  it.  No  words  have  been 
made  for  a  modern  bombardment  of  this  intensity.  One 
can  only  give  a  feeble,  inaccurate  notion  of  what  one  big 
shell  sounds  like. 

When  hundreds  of  heavy  guns  are  firing  upon  one  small 
line  of  ground  and  shells  of  the  greatest  size  are  rushing 
through  the  sky  in  flocks,  and  bursting  in  masses,  all  descrip- 
tion is  futile.  I  can  only  say  that  the  whole  sky  was  reso- 
nant with  waves  of  noise  that  were  long-drawn,  like  the  deep 
notes  of  violins,  gigantic  and  terrible  in  their  power  of 
sound,  and  that  each  vibration  ended  at  last  in  a  thunderous 
crash.  Or  again  it  seemed  as  though  the  stars  had  fallen 
out  of  the  sky  and  were  rushing  down  to  Thiepval. 

The  violence  of  this  bombardment  was  as  frightful  as 
anything  I  have  seen  in  this  war  in  the  way  of  destructive 
gun-power.  The  shells  tore  up  the  German  trenches  and 
built  up  a  great  wall  of  smoke  along  the  crest  of  the  ridge, 
and  smashed  through  the  trees  of  Thiepval,  until  for  min- 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  231 

utes  together  that  place  was  only  to  be  known  by  tall  pillars 
of  black,  and  white,  and  brown  smoke,  which  swayed  about 
as  though  in  a  great  wind,  and  toppled  down  upon  each 
other,  and  rose  again. 


A  voice  at  my  elbow,  speaking  breathlessly,  said :  "Look ! 
They're  away.  .  .  .  Oh,  splendid  fellows !" 

Out  of  our  front  line  trenches  scrambled  long  lines  of 
men.  They  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  top  of  the  parapet, 
waited  for  a  second  or  two  until  all  the  men  had  got  up  into 
their  alignment,  and  then  started  forward,  steadily  and  in 
wonderful  order.  Some  of  the  officers  turned  round,  as 
though  to  see  that  all  their  men  were  there.  I  saw  one  of 
them  raise  his  stick,  and  point  towards  the  ridge.  Then  he 
ran  ahead  of  his  men.  They  were  on  low  ground — lowest 
on  the  right,  in  front  of  the  parapet  where  I  stood,  but 
sloping  up  a  little  on  the  left  by  the  Leipzig  redoubt. 
Beyond  them  the  ground  rose  steadily  to  the  ridge  on  which 
Thiepval  stands.  Our  men  had  a  big  climb  to  make,  and  a 
long  way  to  go  over  open  country,  for  four  or  five  hundred 
yards  is  the  very  devil  of  a  way  to  go  when  it  is  swept  with 
shell  fire. 

The  enemy  was  not  long  in  flinging  a  barrage  in  the  way 
of  our  men.  A  rocket  went  up  from  his  lines  as  a  signal  to 
his  guns,  and  perhaps  half  a  minute  after  our  men  had 
sprang  over  the  parapet  his  shells  began  to  fall.  But  they 
were  too  late  to  do  any  damage  there.  Our  men  were  out 
and  away.  Some  message  seemed  to  reach  the  enemy  and 
tell  him  this.  He  raised  his  barrage  on  to  ground  nearer  to 
his  own  lines,  and  his  heavy  crumps  fell  rapidly,  bursting  all 
over  No  Man's  Land.  Now  and  again  they  seemed  to  fall 
right  into  the  middle  of  a  bunch  of  our  men,  in  a  way 
frightful  to  see,  but  when  the  smoke  cleared  the  group  was 
still  going  forward.  On  the  right  of  the  line  one  great  shell 
burst  with  an  enormous  crash,  and  this  time  there  was  no 


^2  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

doubt  that  it  had  caught  some  of  our  men.  I  saw  them 
fall  in  a  heap.  .  .  .  Perhaps  they  had  flung  themselves 
down  to  avoid  the  shell  splinters.  Perhaps  not  one  of  them 
had  been  touched.  It  is  extraordinary  how  men  can  avoid 
death  like  that. 

Nothing  checked  the  advance  of  the  long  lines  of  figures 
going  through  the  smoke ;  not  all  the  German  barrage,  which 
was  now  very  fierce.  The  men  had  to  cross  one  of  those 
narrow  strips  of  grass  land  between  the  earthworks  before 
they  came  to  the  first  line  of  German  trenches,  and  they 
showed  up  black  and  distinct  against  this  green  belt  when- 
ever the  smoke  of  the  shells  bursting  above  them  drifted 
away. 

They  were  not  in  close  formation.  They  went  forward 
after  the  first  few  moments  of  advance,  in  small  parties, 
widely  scattered,  but  keeping  the  same  direction.  Some- 
times the  parties  themselves  broke  up  and  separated  into 
individual  figures,  jumping  over  shell-craters,  running  first 
to  left  or  right  as  the  shriek  of  an  enemy  shell  warned  them 
of  approaching  death.  I  saw  then  how  easy  it  is  to  lose  all 
sense  of  direction  in  an  attack  like  this,  and  the  reason  why 
men  sometimes  go  so  hopelessly  astray.  But  yesterday  it 
vv'as  quite  marvellous  how  quickly  the  men  recovered  their 
line  vv^hen  they  had  drifted  away  in  the  blinding  smoke,  and 
how  the  groups  kept  in  touch  with  each  other,  and  how 
separate  figures,  running  to  catch  up,  succeeded  in  joining 
the  groups. 


We  watched  the  single  figures,  following  the  fortunes  of 
each  man  across  the  fire-swept  slope,  hoping  with  all  our 
souls  that  he  would  get  through  and  on.  Then  he  would 
pick  himself  up  when  he  fell  face  forward. 

For  a  little  while  the  men  were  swallowed  up  in  smoke. 
I  could  see  nothing  of  them,  and  I  had  a  horrible  feeling 
this  time  none  of  us  would  ever  see  them  again.    For  they 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  233 

had  walked  straight  into  the  infernal  fires,  and  all  behind 
them  and  all  in  front  the  shells  were  bursting  and  flinging 
up  the  earth  and  raising  enormous,  fantastic  clouds. 

It  seemed  an  hour  before  I  saw  them  again.  I  suppose  it 
was  only  five  or  six  minutes.  The  wind  drifted  the  smoke 
away  from  the  Thiepval  ridge,  and  there,  clear  and  distinct 
to  the  naked  eye,  were  the  lines  of  our  men  swarming  up. 
Some  of  them  were  already  on  the  highest  ground,  stand- 
ing, single  figures,  black  against  the  sky.  They  stood  there 
a  second  or  two,  then  jumped  down  and  disappeared.  They 
were  in  the  German  trenches,  close  to  Thiepval. 

"Magnificent!"  said  a  French  officer  who  was  standing 
close  to  me.     "By  God !  your  men  are  fine !" 

They  were  wonderful.  The  German  barrages  did  not 
stop  them.  They  went  through  and  on  as  though  proof 
against  shells.  Some  men  did  not  go  on,  and  fell  on  the  side 
of  the  slope,  but  it  seemed  to  me  there  were  not  many  of 
them. 

In  the  centre  of  the  German  trenches  was  a  strong  point 
or  redoubt,  with  machine-guns.  It  was  one  of  those  deadly 
places  that  have  often  checked  one  of  our  attacks,  and 
cost  many  brave  lives.  But  I  could  see  that  our  men  were 
all  round  it.  One  single  figure  was  an  heroic  silhouette 
against  the  blue  of  the  sky.  He  was  bombing  the  redoubt, 
and  as  he  flung  his  bombs  the  attitude  of  the  man  was  full 
of  grace  like  a  Greek  disc-thrower.  A  German  shell  burst 
close  to  him  and  he  was  engulfed  in  its  upheaval,  but 
whether  he  was  killed  or  not  I  could  not  tell.  I  did  not  see 
him  again. 


Up  the  slope  went  the  other  men,  following  the  first  wave, 
and  single  fellows  hurrying  after  them.  In  a  little  while 
they  had  all  disappeared.  They  were  in  the  enemy's 
trenches,  beyond  all  doubt. 

New  sounds  of  an  explosive  kind  came  through  all  the 


234  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

fury  of  gun-fire,  which  had  slackened  in  intensity,  but  was 
still  slashing  the  air.  It  was  a  kind  of  hard  knocking  in 
separate  strokes,  and  I  knew  it  was  bomb-fire.  Our  men 
were  at  work  in  and  about  the  German  dug-outs,  and 
there  were  Germans  there  who  were  not  surrendering  with- 
out a  fight. 

One  fight  took  place  on  the  top  of  the  parapet.  A  man 
came  up  and  stood  on  the  sky-line — whether  an  English 
soldier  or  a  German  it  was  impossible  to  see.  I  think  a 
German,  for  a  second  after  another  man  came  up  as  though 
chasing  him,  and  the  first  man  turned  upon  him.  They 
both  had  revolvers  and  fired,  and  disappeared.  Other  men 
were  running  along  the  parapets  of  the  German  trenches. 
They  were  ours,  and  they  were  flinging  bombs  as  they  ran. 
Then  a  curtain  of  smoke  was  wafted  in  front  of  them  again, 
and  they  were  hidden. 

From  our  own  trenches  another  wave  of  men  appeared. 
I  think  it  wanted  more  courage  of  them  even  than  of  the 
first  line  of  assaulting  troops  to  go  out  over  that  open 
ground.  They  had  to  face  the  German  barrage  and  to  pass 
over  a  way  where  many  of  their  comrades  were  lying.  But 
they  went  on  steadily  and  rapidly,  just  as  the  others  had 
gone,  splitting  up  into  groups,  running  in  short  rushes,  dis- 
appearing in  the  smoke  of  shell-bursts,  falling  into  shell- 
craters,  scrambling  up,  and  on  again.  .  .  . 

Another  wave  came  still  later,  making  their  way  to  that 
ridge  where  their  comrades  were  fighting  in  the  enemy's 
trenches.    They,  too,  disappeared  into  those  ditches. 

Only  in  the  ground  near  to  me  could  I  see  any  sign  of  life 
now.  Here  some  of  our  wounded  were  walking  back,  and 
the  stretcher-bearers  were  at  work.  I  watched  a  little  proces- 
sion coming  very  slowly  to  our  trenches  with  their  stretchers 
lifted  high.  It  was  a  perilous  way  of  escape  for  wounded 
when  the  enemy  was  flinging  shells  all  over  the  ground  and 
there  was  no  safety  zone.  Somewhere  on  our  right  a  shell 
had  struck  a  bomb-store  or  an  ammunition  dump  and  a 
volume  of  smoke,  reddish-brown,  rose  and  spread  into  the 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  235 

shape  of  a  gigantic  query  mark.  Other  fires  were  burning  in 
what  had  been  No  Man's  Land,  and  out  of  an  explosion  in 
the  enemy's  trenches  there  was  flung  up  a  black  vomit  in 
which  were  human  beings,  or  fragments  of  them.  Over 
the  ridge  by  Thiepval  the  enemy's  barrage  was  continuous 
on  the  far  side  of  the  slope  between  our  trenches  on  the 
west  and  the  ground  just  gained,  and  the  top  of  the  smoke- 
clouds  drifted  above  the  sky-line  as  though  from  a  row  of 
factory  chimneys. 


Suddenly  out  of  all  this  curtain  of  smoke  came  a  crowd 
of  figures,  leaping  and  running.  They  were  Germans  trying 
to  get  to  our  trenches,  not  in  a  counter-attack,  but  to  give 
themselves  up  as  prisoners,  and  to  get  some  cover  from 
their  own  shell-fire.  Terror  was  in  their  attitudes,  in  their 
wild  stampede  and  desperate  leaps  over  the  broken  ground 
where  the  shells  of  their  own  guns  were  bursting.  One 
great  German  crump  crashed  close  to  them,  and  I  think  it 
must  have  killed  some  of  them. 

Then  for  more  than  an  hour  as  I  watched  other  figures 
came  back  from  the  high  ground  towards  our  old  front 
line,  sometimes  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  sometimes  alone. 
They  were  our  lightly  wounded  men,  with  here  and  there  a 
German. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  horrible  fascination  that  I  watched 
the  adventures  of  these  men,  separately.  One  of  them 
would  jump  down  from  the  sky-line,  and  come  at  a  quick 
run  down  the  slope.  Then  suddenly  he  would  stop  and 
stand  in  an  indecisive  way  as  though  wondering  what  route 
to  take  to  avoid  the  clusters  of  shell-bursts  spurting  up 
below  him.  He  would  decide  sometimes  on  a  circuitous 
route,  and  start  running  again  in  a  zig-zag  way,  altering  his 
direction  sharply  when  a  shell  crashed  close  to  him. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  out  of  breath.  He  would  halt  and 
stand  as  though  listening  to  the  tumult  about  him,  then  come 


236  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

on  very  slowly.  I  wanted  to  call  out  to  him,  to  shout,  "This 
way,  old  man!  .  .  .  Quick!"  But  no  voice  would  have 
carried  through  that  world  in  uproar.  Then  perhaps  he 
would  stumble,  and  fall,  and  lie  as  though  dead.  But  pres- 
ently I  would  see  him  crawl  on  his  hands  and  knees,  stand 
up  and  run  again.  He  would  reach  our  line  of  trenches 
and  jump  down,  or  fling  himself  down.  Some  cover  at 
last,  thank  God !  So  it  happened  with  man  after  man,  and 
each  journey  was  the  adventure  of  a  man  trying  to  dodge 
death.    It  was  horrible  to  see. 

High  above  the  Thiepval  ridge  there  were  perpendicular 
streaks  of  white  smoke  and  light,  strangely  spectral,  like 
tall  thin  ghosts  wrapped  in  white  shrouds  and  illumined  in  a 
ghastly  way.  I  think  they  were  the  long  tails  of  rockets 
fired  as  signals  to  the  guns.  The  German  black  shrapnel 
and  their  green  "universal"  shell  was  hanging  in  big  puffs 
above  the  denser  pall  below,  and  there  was  the  glint  and 
flash  of  bursting  shells  stabbing  through  the  wall  of  smoke. 

Our  aeroplanes  were  right  over  Thiepval  all  through  the 
battle,  circling  round  in  wide  steady  flights,  careless  of  the 
German  anti-aircraft  guns,  which  were  firing  continuously. 
Two  hostile  planes  came  out  and  our  men  closed  about  them, 
and  flew  to  attack,  but  after  a  little  while  the  Germans  fled 
back  in  retreat.  The  only  observation  the  enemy  had  was 
from  two  kite  balloons,  poised  well  forward,  but  often  lost 
and  blinded  in  all  the  clouds. 

So  I  watched,  and  knew,  because  our  men  did  not  come 
back  from  those  trenches  on  the  Thiepval  ridge,  that  they 
had  been  successful.  It  was  only  the  prisoners  and  the 
lightly  wounded  who  came  back.  The  assaulting  parties 
were  holding  the  ground  they  had  captured  in  spite  of  all 
the  shell-fire  that  crashed  over  them.  They  had  tightened 
the  iron  net  round  Thiepval,  and  drawn  it  closer. 

So  at  last  I  went  away  from  the  battlefield,  back  to  the 
quiet  harvest  fields  flooded  with  the  golden  glow  of  the 
sinking  sun,  luckier  than  the  men  who  had  to  stay,  and 
ashamed  of  my  luck.     The  enemy  was  flinging  shells  at 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  237 

long  range.     The  harvest  fields  were  not  quite  so  safe  as 
they  looked. 

There  were  ugly  corners  to  pass,  shell-trap  comers,  where 
it  is  not  wise  to  linger  to  light  a  cigarette.  But  hell  was 
behind  me,  up  there  at  Thiepval,  where  the  storm  of  shell- 
fire  still  raged,  and  where,  below  ground,  the  German  gar- 
rison awaits  its  inevitable  fate. 


8 

August  26 
Following  the  official  communique,  I  can  now  say  that  the 
troops  whom  I  saw  advancing  so  splendidly  and  steadily 
across  a  great  stretch  of  No  Man's  Land  to  the  higher 
ground  round  Thiepval  were  men  of  Wiltshire  and  Worces- 
tershire. They  deserve  the  honour  that  has  been  given  them 
by  Sir  Douglas  Haig  in  his  report,  because  after  their  great 
assault  they  had  to  sustain  last  night  a  strong  attack  by 
Prussian  Guardsmen,  following  a  long  and  fierce  bombard- 
ment. The  courage  of  these  English  lads — among  them 
being  boys  who  once  followed  the  plough  and  worked  in  the 
orchards  of  those  quiet  old  counties — did  not  fail  against 
the  finest  troops  of  the  Kaiser's  armies,  and  that  phrase  in 
the  official  communique  which  records  their  achievement  is 
a  fine  memorial : 

"The  success  of  our  defences  is  largely  due  to  the  steadi- 
ness and  determined  gallantry  of  Wiltshire  and  Worcester- 
shire men,  who,  in  spite  of  being  subjected  to  a  very  heavy 
bombardment,  steadily  maintained  their  positions,  and  re- 
pulsed the  determined  assault  of  the  enemy." 

It  seems  to  me  probable  that  the  enemy  will  make  a  big 
efifort  to  check  our  continued  advance  along  the  ridge  from 
Thiepval  to  High  Wood,  and  especially  to  rescue  Thiepval 
itself  from  its  impending  fate.  The  position  our  troops 
have  gained  by  two  months'  fighting  of  the  most  heroic 
kind  has  put  the  enemy  at  a  great  disadvantage  from  the 


238  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

point  of  view  of  artillery  observation,  which  is  all  important 
in  modern  warfare. 

On  the  ground  in  front  of  us  now,  beyond  the  Windmill, 
and  the  switch-line,  the  German  battalions  are  in  an  unten- 
able position  if  our  attack  is  pressed  on,  until  they  fall  back 
upon  what  is  known  as  the  Flers  line,  more  than  2,000  yards 
behind  Martinpuich  and  High  Wood,  and  meanwhile  their 
present  line  of  defence  is  open  to  our  bombardments,  so  that 
the  enemy's  casualties  must  be  very  heavy  and,  as  we  know, 
the  moral  of  their  men  in  these  shell-craters  and  ruins  is 
badly  shaken. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  German  Headquarters  Staff  realises 
the  gravity  of  the  position,  and  is  endeavouring  to  organise 
a  method  of  defence  by  attack,  which  will  stop  or  check  the 
British  advance.  They  are  probably  too  shrewd  to  believe 
that  this  can  be  done  by  bringing  up  fresh  troops  to  replace 
those  who  have  been  worn  out,  and  stand  with  shattered 
nerves  beyond  the  British  lines. 

Fresh  troops  or  old  troops  are  food  for  our  gims,  greedy 
for  them.  It  is  only  by  guns  that  the  enemy  can  fight 
against  guns,  and  he  is  drifting  down  batteries  into  a  great 
concentration  for  the  defence  of  Thiepval. 

It  will  be  the  greatest  duel  of  artillery  ever  seen  on  the 
British  front,  for  as  I  have  seen  myself  the  sweep  and  fury 
of  our  own  shell-fire  in  the  neighbourhood  reaches  the  most 
astounding  intensity.  Meanwhile  we  have  in  this  sector, 
beyond  any  shadow  of  doubt  or  exaggeration,  the  mastery 
of  the  air,  and  that  is  of  supreme  advantage  to  our  gunners, 
and  to  the  infantry  who  are  supported  by  them. 

So  far  our  progress  has  not  been  brought  to  a  dead  halt, 
and  we  have  made  further  ground  yesterday,  by  wonderfully 
fine  fighting  on  the  part  of  English  and  Scots  battalions,  to 
the  north  and  east  of  Delville  Wood.  Our  hurricane  bom- 
bardment preceding  the  attack  of  these  troops  was  coun- 
tered by  a  heavy  barrage  from  the  enemy,  but  our  men 
went  forward  with  an  unflinching  spirit  to  a  line  striking 
across  the  Flers-Longueval  road,  and  joining  on  the  left — 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  239 

by  a  curved  salient — our  old  position  south-west  of  High 
Wood. 

The  hardest  part  of  the  fighting  was  on  the  left  of  the 
attack,  where  there  was  a  great  deal  of  machine-gun  fire,  but 
the  enemy's  trenches  were  carried  and  prisoners  were  taken 
to  the  number  of  ten  officers  and  214  other  ranks.  Several 
machine-guns  also  were  brought  back  after  being  captured 
by  hand-to-hand  fighting  at  the  strong  points. 


9  . 

August  28 

I  have  already  described  my  own  visual  impressions  of 
the  great  assault  made  south  of  Thiepval  by  men  of  Wilt- 
shire and  Worcestershire,  which  I  watched  from  a  neigh- 
bouring trench.  But  there  are  still  things  to  be  told  about 
this  memorable  achievement — as  fine  in  its  way  as  anything 
our  men  have  done.  The  name  of  Wiltshire  will  always 
be  specially  remembered  on  the  ground  of  the  Leipzig 
salient,  which  barred  the  southern  way  to  Thiepval,  for  they 
were  troops  of  this  county  who,  as  far  back  as  July  8, 
captured  the  butt-end  of  that  stronghold,  and,  working  with 
other  county  troops  on  their  right,  made  the  next  advance, 
on  August  22,  which  preceded  the  greater  attack  two  days 
later. 

That  afifair  of  August  22  was  extraordinary  fine  and 
brief  and  successful.  Twelve  minutes  after  the  attacking 
time,  the  Wilts  men  had  gone  across  the  one  hundred  yards 
of  No  Man's  Land,  captured  the  enemy's  nearest  line  of 
trenches,  and  sent  down  their  first  batch  of  twenty  prison- 
ers. 

The  Wiltshires  had  only  three  casualties  in  getting  across 
the  open  ground,  though  they  afterwards  suffered  more  un- 
der  the  enemy's  shell-fire.  Most  of  the  German  dug-outs 
were  blown  in,  but  there  was  one  big  subterranean  chamber 
which  was  not  badly  damaged,  and  wanted  only  a  little 
work  to  make  it  a  place  of  comfort  for  the  new-comers.    As 


240  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

their  colonel  said  to  me  to-day :    "It  always  gives  us  great 
pleasure  to  take  lodgings  in  these  German  apartments." 

The  attack  on  the  Hindenburg  trench  which  I  saw  on 
August  24  was  complicated  because  the  Wiltshires  had  to 
advance  partly  across  the  open — 300  yards  of  No  Man's 
Land,  which  is  no  joke — and  partly,  on  their  left,  through 
a  network  of  trenches  climbing  the  high  ground  from  the 
Leipzig  salient  to  Thiepval. 

It  was  necessary  therefore  to  organise  the  attack  so  that 
those  advancing  over  the  open  should  not  arrive  at  the  Hin- 
denburg trench  sooner  than  those  worrying  their  way  up 
through  the  broken  earthworks,  not  at  all  an  easy  proposi- 
tion. 

Also  before  the  Hindenburg  line  could  be  seized  securely 
it  would  be  essential  to  "kill"  a  German  strong  point  at  a 
junction  made  in  the  Hindenburg  trench  by  a  communica- 
tion way  running  up  from  the  Leipzig  salient. 

The  penalty  of  not  doing  so  would  be  certain  death  to 
many  of  our  men  by  an  enfilade  fire  of  machine-guns.  These 
are  little  details  that  worry  the  souls  of  commanding  officers 
and  company  commanders  before  they  get  the  men  over  the 
parapet  with  thousands  of  bombs  and  the  supplies  of  picks, 
shovels,  sandbags,  Lewis  gun  "drums,"  Very  lights,  and 
other  material  of  war. 

10 

On  the  day  before  the  last  attack  on  the  southern  way 
into  Thiepval  the  enemy,  who  suspected  bad  things  coming, 
tried  to  thwart  our  plan  by  hurling  a  terrific  storm  of  shell- 
fire  all  over  the  Leipzig  salient. 

He  seems  to  have  brought  up  new  guns  for  the  purpose, 
and  his  heavy  five-point-nines  "crumped"  the  ground  in  all 
directions.  But  all  this  did  not  stop  the  Wiltshires  and  the 
Worcesters,  who  went  on  with  their  own  little  scheme. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  last,  everything  went  like  clock- 
work from  the  moment  that  our  artillery  opened  with  the 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  241 

intense  bombardment  described  by  me  in  a  former  despatch. 

The  Worcesters  attacked  on  the  right,  the  Wiltshires  on 
the  left.  Over  the  parapet  they  haked  a  moment,  and  then 
went  forward  in  a  steady  and  ordered  way.  I  could  not 
see  the  men  working  up  through  the  trenches  on  the  left 
until  they  sprang  up  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  but  only  those 
who  went  across  the  open.  The  last  eighty  yards  was  cov- 
ered in  the  quickest  time,  and  soon  after  our  shell-fire  lifted 
off  the  German  trench  the  Wiltshires  and  Worcesters  were 
in  among  the  enemy. 

But  not  close  together.  There  was  a  gap  of  fifty  yards 
between  the  two  parties,  and  in  order  to  get  in  touch  with 
each  other  they  bombed  left  and  right.  It  was  at  this  mo- 
ment that  a  company  officer  distinguished  himself  by  great 
gallantry. 

There  were  Prussian  Guards  in  the  trench,  and  they 
fought  fiercely,  using  the  gap  as  a  bombing  centre.  Unless 
routed  out  this  group  of  men  might  have  spoiled  the  attack. 
The  officer  saw  the  situation  in  a  flash,  and  was  quick  to 
get  a  rifle  to  his  shoulder.  He  was  a  dead  shot,  and  shot, 
one  after  the  other,  five  men  who  were  trying  to  blow  him 
to  bits  with  their  hand  grenades. 

At  the  same  time  a  sergeant  scrambled  up  into  the  open, 
and  running  along  outside  the  trench  flung  his  bombs  at  the 
enemy  below,  "to  rattle  them,"  according  to  the  description 
of  his  commanding  officer.  Another  young  soldier  fixed  his 
Lewis  gun  over  the  parapet  and  fired  down  into  the  trenches, 
so  that  the  enemy  had  to  keep  quiet  until  our  men  were  all 
round  them. 

The  strong  point  by  the  Koenigstrasse  had  been  rushed, 
and  the  Hindenburg  trench  was  ours. 


II 

Sharp  and  fierce  fighting  had  carried  the  trenches  on  the 
left  and  captured  a  strong  dug-out  belonging  to  the  German 


g42  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

company  commanders.  Here  also  the  Prussian  Guards 
fought  with  great  courage,  firing  up  from  their  dug-outs 
and  only  surrendering  under  the  menace  of  immediate  death. 
One  sergeant  here  on  the  left  walked  about  in  the  open  with 
a  cool  courage  and  shot  twelve  Germans  who  were  sniping 
from  shell-holes.  The  ground  was  already  strewn  with 
their  dead,  killed  by  our  bombardment,  and  over  this  grave- 
yard of  unburied  men  there  was  bayonet  fighting  and  bomb- 
ing until  all  the  Prussians  who  remained  alive  became  the 
prisoners  of  the  Wiltshires. 

There  were  several  officers  among  them  wearing  the  Iron 
Cross,  and  all  the  officers  and  men  were  tall  fellows  with 
brand-new  equipment  which  showed  that  they  had  just  come 
into  the  trenches. 

Two  captured  machine-guns  were  turned  against  the  en- 
emy's line,  with  their  own  ammunition  ready  for  use,  and 
both  the  Wiltshires  and  the  Worcesters  settled  down  in  the 
new  line,  badly  smashed  as  usual  by  our  shell-fire,  but  with 
a  lot  of  useful  dug-outs  still  intact,  to  hold  on  under  the 
inevitable  retaliation  of  the  enemy's  guns. 

All  through  the  night  there  was  a  steady  bombardment, 
but  nothing  of  extraordinary  ferocity.  It  was  the  usual 
night's  "straf"  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Thiepval,  which  is 
not  really  a  nice  place. 

On  the  following  day — last  Friday — the  hostile  shell-fire 
increased.  Five-point-nines  were  joined  by  eight-inches, 
and,  as  one  of  the  officers  described  it,  "every  durned  thing." 
It  quickened  and  strengthened  in  intensity  until  towards 
evening  it  was  a  hurricane  bombardment  meaning  one  obvi- 
ous thing — a  counter-attack.  Our  men  were  well  down  in 
the  old  German  dug-outs,  grateful  to  their  enemy  for  dig- 
ging so  deep  and  well,  but  it  became  most  necessary  to  warn 
our  "heavies"  that  the  Prussians  were  gathering  for  a 
smashing  assault. 

Runners  were  sent  out  to  get  back  through  the  barrage 
if  they  had  the  luck,  and  several  of  these  brave  men  tried 
and  several  failed,  dying  on  the  way.     But  one  had  more 


THE  ATTACKS  ON  THIEPVAL  243 

than  human  luck.  Owing  to  the  appalling  character  of  the 
ground,  "pitted  and  ploughed  as  though  by  a  gigantic  har- 
row"— it  is  his  officer's  phrase — the  man  lost  his  sense  of 
direction,  staggered  and  stumbled  on  through  the  smoke 
and  over  the  shell-craters,  and  then — amazed — found  him- 
self looking  over  a  parapet  into  a  trench  full  of  Germans 
with  fixed  bayonets.  They  were  crowded  there,  those  tall 
Prussians,  awaiting  the  moment  to  launch  their  counter- 
attack. 

The  runner  turned  back.  Before  him  the  ground  was  a 
series  of  volcanoes,  tossed  up  by  German  shells  and  British 
shells.  He  knew  that  he  had  to  pass  through  our  barrage 
and  the  enemy's  barrage.  The  chances  against  him  were 
tremendous.  In  his  own  opinion  he  had  no  more  chance 
than  a  "snowflake  in  hell."  But  he  ran  back,  dodging  this 
death,  and — came  through  untouched ! 

The  "heavies"  did  at  last  get  the  message,  and  were  quick 
to  answer  it.  "In  three  shakes,"  said  an  officer  of  the  Wilt- 
shires,  "they  were  smashing  the  German  lines  to  glory." 

Those  tall  Prussians  crowding  there  were  caught  by  this 
storm.  Their  trench  became  a  ditch-full  of  mangled  bodies. 
Only  a  thin  wave  of  men  came  out  into  open  country,  and 
of  these  not  many  went  back. 

The  Prussian  counter-attack  was  killed.  The  Worcesters 
and  the  Wiltshires  held  their  ground  round  Thiepval,  and 
their  losses  were  paid  for  heavily  by  German  blood. 


XXV 
THE  LAST  FIGHTS  IN  DEVIL'S  WOOD 


I 

August  29 
The  barren   ground   of  the  battlefields  was  turned   into 
swamps  this  afternoon,  when  the  clouds  which  had  been 
piling  up  in  great  black  masses  suddenly  broke  after  a  few 
warning  flashes  of  lightning  and  a  roll  of  thunder. 

I  have  been  watching  the  usual  artillery  bombardment 
over  the  Pozieres  ridge  and  Thiepval,  spreading  eastward  to 
the  thin  fringe  of  High  Wood,  faintly  pencilled  against  the 
darkening  sky.  The  guns  quickened  their  pace  at  about 
three  o'clock,  and  on  our  right  the  French  artillery  was  also 
hammering  away.  Then  the  storm  burst  and  nature,  after 
all,  had  the  best  of  it,  though  all  the  atmospheric  effects 
seemed  like  a  magnificent  plagiarism  of  our  human  chemis- 
try which  has  filled  the  sky  with  darkness  and  forked  light- 
nings, and  the  earth  with  high  explosives,  and  the  air 
with  noise.  These  thunder-claps  ripping  the  clouds  before 
the  long  ruffle  of  their  drums,  and  the  winking  of  the  light- 
ning behind  the  black  curtains  on  the  hills,  and  the  queer, 
ghastly  colours  edging  fantastically  shaped  wreaths  of 
clouds,  were  enormously  like  our  miniature  tempests  of 
hate.  Nature  was  at  war  with  itself,  and  our  pop-guns 
seemed  silly  toys. 

Coming  down  to  earth,  and  its  funny  ants,  called  men, 
there  has  not  been  very  much  activity  during  the  past 
twenty-four  hours,  beyond  the  work  of  the  gunners.  Be- 
tween Delville  Wood  and  High  Wood  our  troops  captured 
a  German  barricade,  and  there  was  some  bombing  about  the 

244 


THE  LAST  FIGHTS  IN  DEVIL'S  WOOD      24^5 

shell-craters  on  the  way  to  Ginchy,  all  of  which  gives  us 
at  lait  a  strong  grip  all  round  and  beyond  that  Devil's  Wood, 
where  our  men  have  fought  so  often  and  so  hard. 

There  seems  no  doubt  about  it  now,  judging  from  all  I 
heard  at  an  officers'  mess  in  a  big-sized  tent  between  the 
bombardment  and  the  thunderstorm,  where  a  number  of 
young  officers  told  me  incidents  of  the  recent  fighting  there. 


It  was  on  August  24,  as  I  have  described  already,  in  a 
brief  way,  that  the  big  "shove"  was  made  all  round  this 
beastly  wood  and  out  of  it  on  the  east  side,  where  the  Ger- 
mans still  had  some  strong  posts  and  shell-craters  and 
machine-guns. 

The  troops  engaged  were  mostly  of  English  regiments, 
with  one  body  of  Scots,  and  they  all  did  splendidly  in  spite 
of  the  tragic  character  of  the  ground  and  the  intensity  of 
the  enemy's  barrage.  Accidents  happened  now  and  then. 
At  one  point  of  the  advance  the  German  wire  was  uncut, 
and  only  eight  men  could  get  through.  They  killed  eleven 
Germans  in  the  craters  beyond  them,  and  stayed  there  till 
dusk,  and  came  back. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  wood  the  troops  were  hammered 
by  shell-fire,  but  "stuck"  it  out,  and  went  forward  marvel- 
lously under  the  protection  of  their  own  shell-fire,  while  our 
machine-guns  kept  the  enemy's  heads  down  by  a  stream 
of  machine-gun  bullets — a  million  of  them — which  "wa- 
tered" his  trenches. 

There  was  but  little  hand-fighting  here.  Many  Germans 
were  found  dead  in  their  muck-heaps  which  were  once 
trenches.  Four  of  them  ran  forward  to  surrender  so  furi- 
ously that  they  scared  one  of  our  men  who  ran,  too,  until 
he  realised  their  intention  and  took  them  prisoner.  An- 
other came  running  forward  and  was  seized  by  the  throat 


246  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

by  his  officer,  who  was  suspicious  of  his  intention  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment. 

There  was  also  a  bull-pup  who  came  over  and  is  now 
enjoying  bully-beef. 

Further  on  the  right  there  was  great  fighting  to  thrust  the 
enemy  out  of  his  last  ditch  in  Delville  Wood  and  to  get 
across  the  ground  to  the  east  of  it. 

The  enemy  fought  with  high  courage,  and  there  were 
many  bombing  duels,  in  which  one  of  our  sergeants  caught 
German  bombs  before  they  burst  and  flung  them  back  again 
— which  is  not  an  easy  trick  to  learn.  A  Lewis  gun  was 
thrust  up  very  quickly  to  a  German  post  where  a  machine- 
gun  was  concealed  in  a  shell-crater  and  played  its  hose  on 
the  team  who  refused  to  surrender.  Out  of  one  such  strong 
point — a  nest  of  craters — fifty-four  Prussians  came  up 
with  the  usual  shout  of  surrender  when  our  bombing  parties 
had  surrounded  them. 

Every  man  fought  with  reckless  courage.  The  wounded 
officers  carried  back  on  stretchers  brought  the  latest  news 
to  their  brigadier,  and  said,  "We're  doing  jolly  well,  sir," 
or  explained  the  difficult  bits  of  work  in  hand. 

The  stretcher-bearers  went  out  through  the  heaviest  fire 
and  searched  for  the  wounded  with  great  self-sacrifice. 
One  man  of  the  R.A.M.C.  was  out  there,  over  this  frightful 
ground,  for  twenty  hours  at  a  stretch,  saving  many  men, 
untired  till  the  last. 

One  queer  horror  was  seen.  Some  German  sentries  were 
found  tied  to  posts,  and  one  man  stood  there  without  a 
head,  which  had  been  blown  off  by  a  shell.  It  seemed  some 
awful  form  of  field  punishment,  perhaps  for  men  who  had 
tried  to  desert.  Nearly  400  prisoners  were  taken  altogether 
that  day. 

They  had  fought  bravely — once  they  had  the  pride  of 
Prussians.  But  now  many  of  them  were  utterly  broken, 
and  one  officer,  when  he  was  questioned,  could  only  wring 
his  hands  and  moan  about  the  awful  losses  of  his  com- 
pany. 


THE  LAST  FIGHTS  IN  DEVIL'S  WOOD      247 

It  was  fighting  which  continued  the  tradition  of  Devil's 
Wood — where  horror  and  heroism  have  gone  hand  in  hand. 


September   2 

The  enemy's  attempt  to  recover  some  of  his  lost  ground 
around  Delville  Wood  has  been  very  costly  to  him,  and  has 
only  succeeded  in  two  places  in  forcing  our  men  back  a  little 
way,  in  spite  of  the  self-sacrifice  of  those  German  soldiers 
who  obeyed  orders  and  came  across  a  foul  ground  through 
the  curtain  fire  of  our  guns,  and  fell,  as  they  knew  they 
must  fall. 

So  we  go  back  to  Devil's  Wood  again,  and  the  name  of 
its  beastliness  must  be  written  down  once  more  as  a  place 
where  more  dead  lie  among  those  who  have  lain  there  long, 
and  where  once  more  shell-fire  is  smashing  through  the 
charred  tree-stumps  and  biting  great  chunks  of  wood  out  of 
sturdy  old  trunks  still  standing  in  this  shambles. 

It  will  be  remembered,  perhaps,  how  in  the  last  big  fight- 
ing here  more  than  a  week  ago  our  men  thrust  our  lines 
out  beyond  the  wood,  above  the  orchard  trench  of  Longueval 
and  the  sunken  road  to  High  Wood,  and  captured  the  en- 
emy's last  strong  point  in  the  north-east  corner  of  the  wood, 
and  chased  the  enemy  out  of  a  network  of  trenches  zig- 
zagging away  from  the  wood  towards  Ginchy.  Something 
like  400  prisoners  were  taken  then,  and  in  knocking  out  ma- 
chine-gun posts,  in  bombing  the  enemy  out  of  small  re- 
doubts, and  sweeping  across  ground  pitted  with  shell-craters 
in  which  lay  stubborn  Germans  sniping  our  men  as  they 
passed,  every  quality  of  courage  and  the  fighting  spirit  was 
shown  by  our  troops  engaged. 

It  was  good  to  get  about  beyond  the  Devil's  Wood,  and 
our  men  redug  their  trenches  outside  it  with  a  willing  in- 
dustry. Then  by  bad  luck  the  rain  came,  and  heavy  clouds 
gathered  and  broke,  slashed  by  lightning,  and  flooded  the 
battlefields. 

It  was  hard  luck  on  newly-made  trenches  and  on  the 


248  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

men  who  had  dug  them.  I  think  it  is  difficult  for  people 
at  home  to  understand  the  meaning  of  big  rain  in  this  war 
of  ours;  the  very  sandbags  come  slipping  off  the  parapets, 
and  parapets  come  falling  on  to  the  firesteps,  and  rivers 
come  rushing  down  the  boggy  ditches. 

Rifles  drop  and  get  caked  with  wet  mud.  Hand-grenades 
disappear  into  the  quagmire.  To  get  supplies  up  narrow 
ditches  is  tiring  to  the  point  of  sheer  exhaustion.  So  our 
men  were  tired — "fed-up"  with  the  weather,  as  they  would 
put  it — when  the  enemy  began  to  bombard  them,  not  in  the 
usual  way  of  a  war-day's  work,  but  furiously,  with  a  storm 
of  hate. 

For  three  hours  the  bombardment  went  on  and  increased 
in  violence.  The  front  trenches  had  been  lightly  held,  and 
the  men  there  held  on  until  there  were  no  trenches,  but  only 
shell-craters  and  a  wild  upheaval  of  wet  earth.  The  enemy 
believed,  perhaps,  that  they  had  finished  all  our  life  in  those 
muck-heaps. 

German  soldiers  ordered  to  advance  may,  for  a  few 
minutes,  have  bolstered  up  their  courage  by  the  thought 
that  their  guns  had  done  most  of  the  work.  Not  longer  than 
that.  When  the  first  wave  of  the  ii8th  German  regiment 
came  out  of  their  shell-craters  and  ditches  they  came  full 
into  the  face  of  a  deadly  machine-gun  fire,  and  under  a  great 
barrage  of  high  explosives. 

It  was  the  fire  of  our  machine-gunners  which  killed  most 
of  them.    They  fell  as  if  swept  down  by  invisible  scythes. 

The  second  wave  came — not  in  a  standing  line,  as  people 
may  imagine,  but  in  little  bunches  or  groups,  and  singly, 
stumbling  in  and  out  of  shell-holes,  in  short  rushes,  leapin," 
to  avoid  shell-bursts,  but  not  retreating  one  bit  from  the 
death  that  waited  for  them.  The  second  German  wave  was 
wiped  out. 

A  third,  fourth  and  fifth  wave  advanced,  and  though 
many  of  these  men  fell,  and  the  waves  became  mingled  and 
confused  in  their  tide,  there  were  enough  to  reach  the 
place  where  our  lines  had  been,  and  too  many  at  the  time  for 


THE  LAST  FIGHTS  IN  DEVIL'S  WOOD      M9 

our  men,  who  had  been  sorely  tried,  to  dispute  the  foremost 
shell-craters  with  them. 

Our  troops  had  to  fall  back  in  one  or  two  places  along 
the  fringe  of  Delville  Wood  and  behind  the  line  of  the 
sunken  road  westward.  But  the  enemy  did  not  gain  the 
ground  round  the  wood.  Even  where  he  had  damaged  our 
trenches  most  we  held  strong  posts,  machine-guns  in  con- 
venient shell-holes,  and  small  groups  of  brave  fellows  in 
isolated  bits  of  trench  keeping  their  bombs  and  rifles  dry. 

During  the  night  also  our  men  bombed  out  parties  of 
Germans  in  a  portion  of  the  sunken  road,  and  regained  the 
bit  of  ground  for  which  the  enemy  had  paid  so  high  a  price 
in  blood. 

To-day  there  was  a  blue  sky  again  over  the  battle-fields, 
and  the  sunlight  lay  over  the  ghastly  ruin  of  all  those  villages 
and  woodlands. 

A  great  day  for  the  gunners,  O  God !  .  .  .  They  made  the 
most  of  it,  and  I  watched  the  bombardment  piling  up  the 
columns  of  smoke  and  earth  between  Thiepval  and  High 
Wood,  and  a  fierce  German  barrage  between  Mametz  Wood 
and  the  Bazentins. 

Heavy  crumps  were  bursting  also  away  back  by  Contal- 
maison,  and  once  the  Virgin  of  Albert  was  hidden  in  a 
smoke-cloud  which  rose  from  the  ruins  about  it. 

The  sun  gleamed  on  all  our  kite  balloons  hastening  for- 
ward in  the  blue  to  watch  the  enemy's  lines.  They  were 
dazzling  white,  these  "Ruperts"  of  the  sky,  and  above  and 
about  them  flashed  our  battle-planes  going  over  the  enemy's 
country. 

Ceaselessly  the  infernal  clangour  of  great  guns  banged 
over  the  hills,  and  the  shells  went  whining  overhead.  The 
enemy  was  getting  the  worst  of  it,  if  I  could  judge  from  the 
greater  weight  of  our  bombardment,  but  his  guns  were  also 
hard  at  work,  at  long  range  beyond  Grandcourt  and  Flers. 
He  flung  out  a  quantity  of  gas-shells — and  the  sun  shone 
down  upon  all  these  little  busy  ways  of  men,  and  the  fields 
were  flooded  with  a  golden  light. 


XXVI 

THE  AUSTRALIANS  AT  MOUOUET  FARM 


I 

September   3 
To-DAY,  Sunday,  September  3,  many  of  our  troops  have 
been  engaged  in  hard  fightng. 

The  main  facts  of  these  battles  will  be  told  officially  be- 
fore what  I  have  to  write  is  published — the  capture  of 
Guillemont,  the  advance  at  least  as  far  as  half-way  through 
the  village  of  Ginchy,  the  taking  of  ground  eastwards  be- 
yond Mouquet  Farm — and  put  even  as  briefly  as  that  it  will 
be  known  by  people  at  home  that  our  men  have  again  gone 
forward  in  a  great  attack  and  fought  tremendously. 

Again  all  this  countryside  above  the  Somme  has  been 
filled  with  those  scenes  of  war  which  I  have  described  so 
often  since  that  morning  of  July  i,  when  we  began  the  great 
attack,  pictures  of  a  day  of  battle,  when  many  troops  are 
engaged,  and  when  the  power  of  our  artillery  is  concentrated 
in  a  tremendous  endeavour — stabs  of  fire  from  the  muzzles 
of  many  guns,  smoke-clouds  rising  above  the  ridges  of  the 
hills  and  lying  dense  in  the  valleys,  the  bloody  trail  of  the 
walking  wounded,  groups  of  prisoners  tramping  down,  am- 
bulance convoys  swirling  through  quiet  lanes,  bandaged 
men  in  casualty-clearing  stations  or  sitting  in  harvest-fields 
behind  the  lines  waiting  for  the  Red  Cross  trains,  gims 
going  up,  ammunition  columns  crawling  forward,  transport, 
mules,  motor-cars,  field-guns,  troops — ^^everywhere  the  move- 
ment of  a  great  day  of  war. 

250 


THE  AUSTRALIANS  AT  MOUQUET  FARM     251 


Looking  back  on  to-day's  battle  pictures  two  of  them  rise 
before  me  now  as  I  write,  most  vividly.  One  of  them  was 
just  a  smoke  picture  as  I  stared  down  into  the  boiling 
heart  of  its  cauldron  this  morning.  I  was  in  an  artillery 
observation  post,  from  which  on  ordinary  days  one  may 
see  each  shell  burst  above  the  ruins  of  Thiepval  and  the 
ragged  trees  of  its  woods  and  the  broken  row  of  apple-trees, 
and  a  charred  stick  or  two  of  Mouquet  Farm,  and  beyond, 
very  clearly  on  the  ridge,  the  conical  base  of  the  windmill 
above  Pozieres. 

To-day  one  could  see  nothing  of  this.  Nothing  at  all 
but  a  hurly-burly  of  smoke,  black  rising  in  columns  through 
white,  white  floating  through  and  above  black,  and  all 
moving  and  writhing.  That  was  where  our  men  were 
fighting. 

That  was  all  the  picture  of  this  struggle,  just  smoke  and 
mist.  Thousands  of  shells  were  bursting  there,  but  one 
could  see  no  separate  shell  burst;  no  single  human  figure 
dodging  death  or  meeting  it.  So  I  stood  and  stared  and 
listened.    It  was  like  a  world  in  conflict. 

The  noise  of  the  guns  was  tense.  The  hammer-strokes  of 
each  explosion  met  each  other  stroke,  and  gave  out  an  enor- 
mous clangour.  Dante  looking  down  into  Inferno  may 
have  seen  something  like  this,  and  would  not  have  heard 
such  a  noise.  It  was  most  like  the  spirit  of  war  of  anything 
I  have  seen,  and  I  have  seen  men  go  forward  and  fall,  and 
watched  their  single  adventures. 

The  other  picture  was  more  human  and  less  frightful, 
though  sad  and  tragic  and  wonderful.  It  was  a  field  behind 
the  battle  lines,  into  which  the  "walking  wounded"  first  came 
down  after  their  escape  from  those  fires  further  up.  It  was 
a  harvest-field  with  rows  of  neat  corn  stooks  near  a  wood  in 
heavy  foliage,  in  spite  of  shells  which  came  from  time  to 
time  to  break  the  branches.     Some  wounded  men  lay  about 


g52  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

on  the  stubble.  Others  came  Hmping  between  the  corn 
stocks,  with  their  arms  about  the  necks  of  stronger  com- 
rades. 

Horse  ambulances  halted  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
groups  of  Red  Cross  men  ran  forward  and  brought  back 
very  slowly  stretchers  heavily  laden  with  human  bundles, 
who  were  laid  by  the  side  of  those  who  could  sit  up  with 
their  backs  to  the  wheatsheaves.  Many  of  the  men's  faces 
were  caked  with  blood.  There  was  every  kind  of  wound 
except  the  worst.  But  men  with  bandaged  heads  called  out 
to  others  who  came  with  their  arms  in  slings,  and  men  gone 
lame  gossiped  with  men  whose  jackets  had  been  cut  away 
at  the  shoulder — and  I  saw  again  the  wonder  that  one 
always  sees  after  battle,  which  is  the  cheerfulness  of  men 
who  are  not  too  far  gone  to  hide  their  pain,  the  courage  of 
the  British  soldier,  which  is  sublime. 

There  were  a  few  men  there  from  whom  one's  eyes  played 
the  coward,  but  it  was  good  to  see  the  happiness  of  those 
who  had  come  out  of  the  zone  of  death  into  this  harvest- 
field,  where  there  was  safety  except  for  chance  shells.  Guns 
were  firing  all  round  them.  But  they  were  our  guns.  These 
men  were  the  heroes  of  a  great  day  of  battle,  and  they  had 
been  touched  by  fire,  but  had  not  been  burnt  in  the  furnaces 
to  which  they  had  gone  before  the  dawn.  They  had  had 
all  the  luck. 


It  is  too  soon  to  tell  the  story  of  this  day.  Our  men  are 
still  fighting  as  the  sun  goes  down  this  evening  with  a  red 
glow  in  the  sky  after  a  sharp  burst  of  rain.  In  those  wet 
and  broken  ditches,  which  we  call  trenches,  north-east  be- 
yond Mouquet  Farm,  and  on  the  right  by  Guillemont,  the 
enemy  is  still  being  routed  out  of  shell-craters  and  trying  to 
rally  to  counter-attacks,  and  the  German  guns  are  flinging 
out  barrages  to  drive  our  men  back  if  they  can.  At  this 
hour,  when  all  is  confused  and  uncertain  except  the  main 


THE  AUSTRALIANS  AT  MOUQUET  FARM    253 

facts  that  we  have  taken  Guillemont  and  part  of  Ginchy, 
and  far  beyond  Mouquet,  with  great  news  from  the  French 
on  our  right — the  capture  of  Clery  and  1500  prisoners — I 
can  give  only  a  few  ghmpses  of  the  incidents  of  all  this 
fighting. 

On  the  left  our  attack  was  made  on  the  German  Imes 
north  and  south  of  the  Ancre.  Our  troops  went  over  their 
parapets  this  morning  almost  before  the  first  glimmer  of 
dawn  had  lightened  the  sky.  They  could  only  see  the 
ground  immediately  before  them,  and  it  was,  of  course, 
pitted  with  shell-craters,  old  and  new.  The  new  craters  had 
just  been  made  by  our  hurricane  bombardment,  which  had 
laid  the  enemy's  parapets  in  shapeless  ruin,  killing  a  great 
number  of  Germans  in  what  had  been  their  trenches.  Their 
light  signals  called  to  their  gunners,  and  at  the  very  instant 
our  men  came  into  the  open  an  accurate  barrage  swept  our 
lines.  But  the  men  were  away,  and  as  far  as  I  heard  from 
them  this  morning,  the  line  on  the  left  did  not  suffer  uncom- 
monly in  the  scramble  across  No  Man's  Land. 

A  number  of  them  forced  their  way  into  and  through  the 
enemy's  first  and  second  lines,  bayoneting  the  Germans  who 
tried  to  resist  them,  and  clearing  the  ground  of  strong  snip- 
ers and  machine-gunners.  They  fought — these  English 
country  fellows — in  heroic  style  to  the  south  of  the  river. 
The  enemy's  machine-gunners  played  an  enfilade  fire  upon 
the  successful  troops  across  the  Ancre,  and  the  enemy's  ar- 
tillery was  able  to  concentrate  on  this  ground.  Ours  held 
on  to  the  German  second  line  against  this  overwhelming 
fire  with  a  most  stubborn  endurance,  but  afterwards  when  a 
body  of  Prussians  advanced  to  a  counter-attack  drew  back 
to  get  into  line  again  with  the  men  on  their  right,  south  of 
the  river. 

"It  was  the  shell-fire  which  made  our  position  untenable," 
said  one  of  the  officers  who  had  been  fighting  here.  "But 
in  any  case  we  put  a  large  number  of  Boches  out  of  action, 
and  that  is  always  worth  doing,  and  brings  the  end  of  the 
war  a  little  closer." 


254  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


Much  more  lucky  and  valuable  was  the  advance  made  by- 
Australian  troops  upon  Mouquet  Farm.  These  men  knew 
the  ground  intimately,  and  had  already  penetrated  the  ruins 
of  the  farm  by  a  strong  patrol,  which  went  in  and  out  some 
days  ago,  bringing  back  some  prisoners,  as  I  described  at 
the  time.  They  were  confident  that  they  could  do  the  same 
thing  again,  though  the  site  of  the  farm  might  be  difficult 
to  hold  against  hostile  fire.  Our  guns  did  not  fail  them  this 
morning. 

One  of  these  clean-cut  Australian  boys  with  those  fine, 
steady,  truth-telling  eyes  which  look  so  straight  at  one  even 
after  a  nerve-breaking  ordeal  of  fire,  told  me  to-day  that  the 
bombardment  preceding  their  attack  was  the  greatest  thing 
he  has  ever  heard,  though  he  has  fought  under  many  of 
them  hereabouts. 

"Our  shells  rushed  over  us,"  he  said,  "with  a  strange, 
loud  ringing  noise  which  pierced  one's  ear-drums  with  a 
violent  vibration.  It  was  just  marvellous."  But  the  en- 
emy's guns  were  powerful,  too,  and  he  replied  tremendously 
as  soon  as  our  own  "lifted"  and  lengthened  their  fuses. 

The  way  across  No  Man's  Land,  which  was  about  200 
yards,  I  think,  was  a  passage  perilous.  There  was  no  level 
ground  anywhere,  not  a  foot  of  it.  It  was  all  shell-holes. 
Our  men  fell  in  and  scrambled  out  and  fell  in  again.  Some 
of  the  holes  were  full  of  water  and  mud,  and  men  plunged 
up  to  their  armpits  and  were  bogged. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  way  of  trenches  to  take.  The 
Germans  were  holding  lines  of  shell-craters.  In  these  deep 
pits  they  had  fixed  their  machine-guns,  and  were  scattered 
all  about  in  isolated  groups,  with  little  stores  of  bombs, 
and  rifles  kept  dry,  somehow.  It  was  extraordinarily  diffi- 
cult to  attack  such  a  position  because  there  was  no  definite 
line. 

The  Australians  found  themselves  sniped  by  machine- 


THE  AUSTRALIANS  AT  MOUQUET  FARM    255 

guns — horrible  little  spasms  of  bullets — from  unknown 
quarters,  to  the  right  and  left,  even  behind  them.  By  the 
time  the  line  of  Mouquet  Farm  was  reached  the  battle  was 
broken  up  into  a  number  of  separate  encounters  between 
small  parties  of  x\ustralians  and  small  parties  of  Prussians. 

There  were  bombing  duels  between  one  man  and  another 
over  a  shell-hole.  Prussians  sniped  Australians  and  Aus- 
tralians Prussians  at  short  range  from  the  cover  of  craters. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this  hugger-mugger  fighting  the  Aus- 
tralians pushed  forward,  and  advanced  parties  went  into 
Mouquet  Farm  and  200  yards  beyond  it  on  the  other  side. 
Mouquet  Farm — or  "Moo-cow"  and  "Muckie"  Farm,  as  it 
is  variously  called — only  exists  as  a  name.  Of  the  farm 
buildings  there  is  nothing  left  but  some  blackened  beams 
no  higher  than  one  of  the  Australian  boys. 

The  enemy,  however,  had  his  usual  dug-outs  here,  tun- 
nelled deep  and  strongly  protected  with  timbers  and  cement. 
Into  one  of  these  went  a  group  of  Australians,  ready  for  a 
fight,  and  surprised  to  find  the  place  empty  of  human  life. 
It  was  quiet  there  out  of  the  shell-fire,  and  it  was  pleasant 
to  be  in  the  cool  dark  room,  away  from  the  battle.  The  men 
searched  about  and  found  cigars,  which  they  lit  and  smoked. 

"Good  work !"  said  a  boy. 

As  he  spoke  the  words  there  was  a  scuttle  of  feet  and 
dark  figures  appeared  in  the  entrance  way.  They  were 
Germans,  and  an  officer  among  them  said:  "Surrender!" 
"Surrender  be  damned!"  shouted  the  Australians.  "Sur- 
render yourselves." 

Bombs  were  flung  on  both  sides,  but  other  Australians 
came  up,  and  it  was  the  Germans  who  surrendered.  I  saw 
one  of  them  to-day,  sitting  on  the  grass  and  smoking  a  pipe 
among  some  of  his  comrades,  who  lay  wounded  among  the 
men  who  had  helped  to  capture  them. 

Other  dug-outs  were  being  searched,  and  other  prisoners 
were  taken — how  many  is  still  uncertain.  But  what  is 
quite  certain  is  that  the  Australians  have  taken  ground  be- 
yond Mouquet  Farm  to  the  east  and  defeated  Germany's 


256  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

best  troops — the  ist  regiment  of  the  Prussian  Guards  re- 
serve. 

They  were  sturdy  and  fine-looking  men,  as  I  saw  some  of 
them  to-day,  and  they  did  not  hide  their  joy  at  being  aHve 
and  well  treated  as  wounded  prisoners.  One  of  them  spoke 
quite  freely,  and  answered  all  questions  put  to  him,  though 
with  what  truth  it  is  difficult  to  judge. 

I  think  he  told  the  truth,  according  to  the  knowledge  that 
had  been  given  to  him  and  the  lessons  taught  him  by  his 
war-lords.  One  of  his  most  startling  statements,  which  he 
made  quite  definitely,  is  that  the  German  Emperor  has  issued 
a  proclamation  to  his  troops,  declaring  that  there  will  be  no 
winter  campaign. 

With  regard  to  the  coming  in  of  Rumania,  he  said  that 
it  did  not  surprise  them,  as  they  had  expected  it  for  a  long 
time.  "It  will  make  no  difference  to  the  real  war,"  he  said. 
He  disclaimed  that  there  was  any  shortage  of  food  in  Ger- 
many, and,  as  for  the  soldiers,  said :  "At  least  the  Prussian 
Guards  feed  well.     I  had  two  eggs  for  breakfast." 

"It  is  the  same  with  all  our  men."  In  the  captured  dis- 
tricts of  France  the  French  people,  he  says,  live  on  good 
terms  with  the  Prussian  soldiers,  but  do  not  like  the  Bavari- 
ans, who  are  rude  fellows.  "They  were  glad  to  see  us  back 
from  Russia,"  he  added. 

They  seem  to  have  been  brought  back  hurriedly  from 
Russia  to  resist  our  offensive,  and  one  man  to  whom  I 
spoke  a  few  words — a  house  painter  in  Berlin  in  days  of 
peace — told  me  that  he  had  only  been  here  in  France  since 
the  early  days  of  July.  He  said  that  the  war  was  far  worse 
in  France  than  in  Russia,  because  of  the  intensity  of  artil- 
lery fire.  "We  are  weary  of  it  all,"  he  said.  "Our  people 
are  weary  of  it.    The  world  is  weary  of  it." 

"And  you  are  glad  to  be  out  of  it?"  I  asked. 

He  smiled,  and  said,  "It  is  good  to  be  here." 

The  Australians  were  giving  their  tobacco  to  these  men, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  hatred  between  them.  It  seems 
that  the  Prussian  Guard  behaved  well  to-day  with  regard 


THE  AUSTRALIANS  AT  MOUQUET  FARM     257 

to  the  wounded  and  the  stretcher-bearers.  After  the  battle 
the  bearers  went  out  all  across  No  Man's  Land  to  rescue  the 
wounded  and  we  allowed  the  same  privilege  to  the  enemy, 
so  that  parties  of  Germans  and  British  came  close  to  each 
other  in  this  work  of  rescue,  and  there  was  no  sniping. 

With  regard  to  the  Guillemont  fighting,  I  can  write  very 
little  as  the  battle  there  began  only  at  midday,  and  I  could 
not  get  in  that  direction.  But  I  learn  that  in  co-operation 
with  the  French,  who  were  advancing  magnificently  from  the 
south,  and  who  had  linked  up  with  us  near  Angle  Wood,  our 
troops  fought  their  way  forward  from  Arrow  Head  Copse 
by  way  of  a  maze  of  little  saps  which  had  been  dug  all 
about  here.  They  went  straight  through  Guillemont,  knock- 
ing out  machine-gun  posts  and  clearing  out  dug-outs,  and 
established  themselves  on  the  Sunken  Road  from  Ginchy. 
The  Prussian  Guard  put  up  a  big  fight  near  Falfemont 
Farm,  but  suffered  great  losses.  The  other  German  regi- 
ments against  us  were  the  73rd,  76th,  and  164th. 

Fighting  still  goes  on,  and  the  exact  issue  is  uncertain,  but 
at  the  end  of  this  Sunday  the  advantage  of  the  day  lies  with 
us,  and  the  enemy  has  submitted  to  heavy  blows. 


XXVII 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT 


I 

September  4 
In  my  despatch  yesterday  describing  the  very  heavy  fight- 
ing at  several  parts  of  the  line,  I  was  unable  to  give  suffi- 
cient prominence  to  the  greatest  success  of  the  day,  and  one 
of  the  best  achievements  since  the  beginning  of  the  Battle 
of  the  Somme. 

That  we  hold  Guillemont  safely  and  surely  I  had  the  luck 
to  see  for  myself  to-day  when  from  neighbouring  trenches 
I  looked  into  the  ruin  of  the  place — strangely  quiet  this 
afternoon  apart  from  a  few  German  "crumps" — and  saw 
that  our  men  were  holding  the  Sunken  Road  500  yards 
further  on  before  they  made  an  attack  which  has  given  us 
Wedge  Wood  and  ground  to  the  north  of  Falfemont  Farm. 

Yesterday's  attack  at  midday  was  wonderfully  good.  Our 
men  went  forward  steadily  in  waves  after  a  hurricane  fire 
from  a  great  mass  of  British  guns.  By  some  curious  chance 
the  enemy  does  not  seem  to  have  expected  an  attack  at  the 
exact  hour  it  happened.  They  may  have  thought  that  they 
had  baulked  it  by  their  own  bombardment  on  our  lines  and 
behind  them  when  they  flung  over  10,000  gas  shells,  whose 
poisonous  vapour  floated  over  the  ground  for  hours.  They 
know  now  to  their  cost  that  they  did  not  thwart  the  advance 
of  our  troops. 

The  enemy's  machine-guns  swept  the  ground  with  a  rush 
of  bullets,  but  our  men  took  cover  as  much  as  possible  in 
the  dips  and  hollows  of  the  earth — chaotic  after  long  weeks 
of  shelling — and  came  along  quite  quickly  to  the  outskirts 

258 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  259 

of  the  ruined  village.  A  quarry  there,  in  the  centre  of  the 
western  edge,  had  been  entered  and  held  for  a  day  to  two  by 
British  troops,  but  it  was  no  longer  in  our  hands,  and  had 
to  be  retaken.  On  the  edge  of  the  village  also,  on  the 
western  and  southern  sides,  the  Germans  had  built  their 
best  dug-outs,  months  ago,  before  our  guns  concentrated 
their  fire  here,  so  that  they  had  plenty  of  time  to  build  them 
deep  and  build  them  strong,  to  panel  them,  and  roof  them 
with  concrete,  and  to  furnish  them  comfortably,  and  to 
decorate  them  with  pictures  from  German  newspapers  and 
postcards  from  home. 

Our  assaulting  troops  were  in  and  about  those  dug-outs 
in  the  first  wave,  and  halted  here  to  see  that  no  enemies 
should  remain  in  hiding  to  attack  them  from  the  rear.  Un- 
derground there  was  not  much  fighting.  A  few  proud  men 
refused  to  surrender,  or  did  not  surrender  quickly  enough. 
Most  of  them  gave  themselves  up  easily  and  gave  no  trouble 
in  being  marshalled  back,  so  that  something  like  600  men 
belonging  to  the  finest  German  troops  are  now  behind  our 
lines — out  of  it  for  good,  and  rejoicing  in  their  luck  of 
hfe. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  joined  by  supporting  troops,  the 
British  line  advanced  to  the  Sunken  Road,  where  other  Ger- 
man soldiers  were  captured,  and  found  here  a  fine  defensive 
position  all  ready  for  them,  after  a  little  work  in  reorganis- 
ing the  shelter. 

From  that  point  a  number  of  men  went  forward  again 
to  an  attack  on  Falfemont  Farm,  but  this  was  too  far  for 
one  day's  work,  and  they  were  held  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
wood — poor  wood  of  strafed  trees ! — by  an  immediate  coun- 
ter-attack from  the  Prussian  Guard.  For  one  of  the  rare 
times  in  this  war  the  Germans  faced  British  bayonets,  and 
stood  to  their  ground  so  stoutly  that  they  were  able  to  main- 
tain their  position. 

So  the  battle  ended  yesterday  with  the  capture  of  Guille- 
mont,  which  was  good  enough,  and  our  line  strongly  en- 
trenched along  the  Sunken  Road. 


260  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


To-day  I  saw  another  attack  upon  Falfemont  Farm  and 
our  capture  of  the  Wedge  Wood.  Everywhere  along  the 
way  which  leads  to  the  country  between  Hardecourt  and 
Maurepas  there  is  a  great  desolation. 

The  Sunken  Road  led  down  from  Guillemont  to  Wedge 
Wood  in  the  hollow.  British  soldiers  held  the  Sunken 
Road,  Germans  were  in  Wedge  Wood. 

Striking  up  from  that  small  solitary  copse  of  naked  sticks 
were  two  white  chalky  trenches  in  an  obtuse  angle  with  the 
apex  nearest  to  Wedge  Wood  and  the  broad  base  up  the 
sloping  ground  towards  Leuze  Wood  on  the  ridge  above. 
And  half  way  down  the  slope  to  the  right  of  the  triangle- 
trenches,  was  Falfemont  Farm,  without  a  sign  of  a  farm, 
but  marked  by  a  number  of  tree  stems  stuck  up  like  tele- 
phone poles. 

A  little  after  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  saw  our 
men  in  the  open.  They  came  up  suddenly,  as  though  by  a 
spellword,  along  the  line  of  the  Sunken  Road  and  south- 
wards below  Falfemont  Farm,  advancing  northwards  to 
that  place. 

The  men  advanced  in  waves.  I  saw  the  left  waves  surg- 
ing down  into  Wedge  Wood.  Some  of  them  wavered  a 
little,  then  fell.  Groups  fell,  not  dead  or  wounded,  but  get- 
ting below  the  stream  of  bullets  yard-high  over  the  ground. 
The  small  copse  was  soon  crowded  with  British  soldiers. 
They  seemed  to  be  in  a  kind  of  scrimmage,  and  out  of  the 
middle  of  it  came  presently  a  compact  little  body  of  men. 

"German  prisoners,  right  enough — and  well  done !"  said 
an  officer  by  my  side. 

I  followed  the  advance  of  the  southern  waves  towards 
Falfemont  Farm.  They  went  on  slowly  and  steadily,  and 
had  a  long  way  to  go.  It  seemed  to  me  a  frightful  long  way. 
But  they  crept  up  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  bare 
poles  which  were  once  a  wood.     Then  some  of  them  fell, 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  261 

and  disappeared,  into  shell-craters  and  broken  trenches. 
New  waves  came  up  and  disappeared  also,  as  though  lying, 
or  dead,  in  the  tall  thistles.  After  a  little  while  I  saw  that 
many  of  them  had  reappeared  to  the  left.  They  were  work- 
ing up  towards  the  German  triangle-trenches  on  the  slope 
of  the  spur,  striking  down  from  Leuze  Wood. 

In  a  few  minutes  two  figures  appeared  black  against  the 
white  chalk  of  the  first  trench,  and  presently  they  were  lost 
in  it.  But  not  for  long.  Groups  of  them  were  up  again, 
marshalling  another  group  which  seemed  separated  from 
them  and  then  moved  back  towards  Wedge  Wood.  I 
guessed  they  were  more  German  prisoners,  but  could  not  see 
the  difference  between  grey  and  khaki. 

"Hullo,  they've  got  the  second  trench !"  said  another  man 
by  my  side. 

It  was  some  time  after  two,  while  I  was  watching  the 
confused  groups  of  men,  that  strange  things  began  to  hap- 
pen in  the  German  lines.  From  Leuze  Wood  parties  of  men 
came  running  down  to  Falfemont  Farm. 

"By  the  Lord!"  said  an  officer.  "A  German  counter- 
attack. .  .  .  Get  it  over  the  telephone,  quick.  A  good  tar- 
get for  the  guns." 

It  was  a  wonderful  target.  The  Prussian  Guardsmen 
came  forward,  not  in  open  order,  but  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
They  made  a  serpentine  line  across  the  ground,  advancing 
steadily  and  not  slowly  towards  our  troops.  They  looked 
very  tall  men,  and  their  figures  were  quite  black  against  the 
chalky  earth.  Then  suddenly  the  right  end  of  the  line 
crumbled  away.  Gaps  opened  in  the  >^hick  bar  of  men.  Our 
machine-guns  were  raking  them.  I  listened  to  the  swish- 
swish  of  the  fire,  like  a  flame  blown  in  the  wind.  Then,  like 
a  row  of  ninepins  on  uneven  ground,  the  Prussian  Guards 
all  fell  face  forwards.  The  unwounded  men  had  fallen  with 
the  wounded  to  escape  our  bullets. 

"Counter-attack  repulsed!"  said  a  voice  near  the  tele- 
phonist. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  if  I  remember  accurately,  another 


262  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

German  counter-attack  was  organised  in  exactly  the  same 
way,  by  parties  of  men  coming  down  from  Leuze  Wood. 
But  this  was  also  broken  up  by  our  machine-gun  fire. 


3 

September  5 

My  last  despatch  describing  the  capture  of  Wedge  Wood 
and  the  attack  on  Falfemont  Farm  left  off  like  a  serial  story 
at  a  moment  of  exciting  uncertainty.  It  was  impossible  for 
me  to  tell  whether  our  men  had  actually  taken  possession 
of  the  farm — that  plantation  of  "strafed"  trees  to  the  south 
of  Leuze  Wood — and  the  meaning  of  all  that  coming  and 
going  of  groups  and  individuals  to  the  west  and  north  of 
it,  after  the  second  German  counter-attack  had  failed. 

Now  the  tangled  web  of  the  plot — not  spun  by  imagina- 
tion but  as  real  as  death — is  straightened  out,  and  the  end 
of  another  grim  little  chapter  of  the  war  is  the  capture  of 
1,000  yards  of  the  enemy's  front,  to  the  depth  of  1,500 
yards,  in  and  around  Falfemont  Farm,  which  is  now  held  by 
British  troops. 

It  was  great  fighting  which  gained  this  ground,  and  the 
men  were  their  own  generals.  These  West  Country  lads 
were  not  moved  like  marionettes  pulled  by  the  strings  from 
headquarters.  It  was  after  the  first  orders  had  been  given 
a  soldiers'  battle,  and  its  success  was  due  to  young  officers 
and  N.C.O.'s,  and  men  using  their  own  initiative,  finding 
another  way  round  when  one  had  failed,  and  arranging 
their  own  tactics  in  face  of  the  enemy  to  suit  the  situation 
of  the  moment. 

Such  a  thing  has  been  done  very  rarely  since  the  first  days 
of  trench  warfare,  except  in  raids  over  No  Man's  Land  and 
bombing  fights  in  such  places  as  Ovillers  and  Longueval. 
Here  the  individual  craft  of  our  men  gained  an  important 
position.  When  the  attack  on  Falfemont  Farm  was  checked 
on  the  south  by  wicked  machine-gun  fire  our  troops  worked 
their  way  westwards,  and  joining  other  bodies  of  men  ad- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  263 

vancing  from  the  Sunken  Road  beyond  Guillemont,  crept 
round  the  slope  of  the  ground  that  goes  up  to  Leuze  Wood. 

Half  way  up,  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  spur,  were  the  two 
V-shaped  trenches  which  I  saw  taken  by  the  first  two  waves, 
immediately  after  the  capture  of  Wedge  Wood,  in  the  hol- 
low at  the  bottom  of  the  Sunken  Road,  and  these  trenches 
were  used  also  as  good  cover  for  men  inspired  by  a  great 
idea. 

It  was  the  idea  of  making  a  surprise  rush  into  Leuze 
Wood,  from  its  western  side,  while  the  enemy's  attention 
was  directed  to  the  defence  of  Falfemont  Farm,  half-way 
down  the  slopes  to  the  south. 

It  was  this  surprise  movement  which  caused  all  the  con- 
fusion which  I  saw  yesterday  among  the  enemy. 

Splendid  work  was  done  by  our  men  after  dusk  and 
during  the  night,  in  spite  of  a  deluge  of  rain,  when  the  en- 
emy's artillery  fired  most  furiously.  By  dawn  more  troops 
had  joined  those  who  held  the  spur  and  pushed  on  to  the 
north  of  Falfemont  Farm,  and  others  had  got  close  to  the 
farm  on  the  south  and  west  by  way  of  Wedge  Wood. 

Between  the  black  posts  which  were  once  high  living  trees 
about  sixty  Germans  stayed  on  in  their  shell-craters  and 
broken  dug-outs.  When  the  final  British  rush  came  from 
three  sides  they  could  do  nothing  but  surrender  or  die. 
Some  of  them  died,  and  others  lay  wounded  and  uncon- 
scious, but  most  of  them  put  their  hands  up,  and  this  after- 
noon I  saw  some  of  the  wounded  Germans  from  Falfemont 
lying  side  by  side  on  stretchers  with  boys  from  the  West 
Country  who  had  been  hit  in  attacking  them. 

From  first  to  last  it  was  the  work  of  infantry  rather  than 
guns,  and  it  was  a  great  and  terrible  moment  when  the 
Germans  came  out  in  their  first  counter-attack,  in  close 
ranks,  moving  very  steadily  against  our  men,  in  a  long, 
black  undulating  wave  over  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  ground, 
through  the  waist-high  weeds;  and  then,  again,  after  this 
first  advance  had  been  broken  by  our  machine-gun  fire  and 
had  fallen  prone  into  the  tall  thistles  so  that  no  more  of 


g64  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

them  was  to  be  seen,  when  another  body  of  big  Germans 
came  out,  crouching  for  the  last  rush  upon  our  lines,  and 
our  men  fell  back  a  little,  and  opened  out,  so  that  the  ma- 
chine-guns had  a  clear  field  upon  which  to  play  their  hose 
of  bullets. 

For  a  little  while  at  least  it  was  fighting  without  the 
usual  massacre  of  shell-fire  from  long-range  guns  which  an- 
nihilate the  human  element  as  well  as  the  bodies  of  men. 
Here  at  least,  in  spite  of  the  machine-guns,  men  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  were  killed  advancing  in  the  sight  of 
their  enemies,  which  seems  to  me  better  and  less  frightful 
than  when  men  go  forward  and  see  nothing  and  are  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  great  explosion  directed  from  machines  six 
miles  away. 

The  gun-fire  was  intense  afterwards,  and  men,  and  masses 
of  men,  were  swallowed  up  as  usual  by  its  high-explosives, 
but  for  a  couple  of  hours  it  was  more  like  old-fashioned 
fighting,  damnable  enough,  God  knows,  but  not  so  utterly 
inhuman. 


It  is  not  sufficiently  realised,  I  believe,  how  very  im- 
portant has  been  the  gain  to  us  of  the  last  two  days  of  bat- 
tle. The  capture  of  Guillemont  and  of  the  ground  beyond 
it  has  given  us  now  the  whole  of  the  German  second  line, 
which  we  broke  in  parts  on  the  great  day  of  July  14. 

Since  then  our  men  have  had  an  uphill  fight  all  the  time,  a 
long  struggle  upwards  to  seize  the  high  ridge  from  Pozieres 
eastwards,  and  to  hold  it.  It  has  been  difficult  to  take  and 
difficult  to  hold.  The  cost  has  not  been  light.  The  heroism 
shown  on  those  slopes,  in  those  woods,  in  the  assault  on  the 
high  trenches,  has  been  the  most  wonderful  ever  shown  by 
British  soldiers  in  continuous  endeavour. 

Now  we  have  gained  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  even  if 
our  offensive  were  brought  to  a  dead  halt  to-day,  which  it 
will  not  be,  the  position  of  our  men  for  the  winter  would  be 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  265 

enormously  superior  over  that  of  the  enemy  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water-shed.  Again,  the  taking  of  Guillemont 
and  the  ground  by  Ginchy  has  defended  our  right  flank  and 
straightened  out  an  awkward  saHent. 

With  Ginchy  in  our  hands  on  one  side  and  Thiepval  on 
the  other,  we  should  be  well  placed,  and  there  would  be  a 
great  gain  for  all  the  sacrifice  our  men  have  made  in  fighting 
forward  so  hard,  and  so  far,  and  with  such  exalted  courage. 


5 

September  5 
The  taking  of  Guillemont,  the  quick  progress  to  the  Sunk- 
en Road  beyond,  the  capture  of  Falfemont  Farm,  the 
thrust  forward,  by  great  daring,  into  Leuze  Wood,  the  close 
assault  on  Ginchy,  and  the  splendid  advance  of  the  French 
on  our  right,  have  given  to  this  part  of  the  battleline  an 
atmosphere  of  exultation,  which  our  troops  have  not  felt 
so  strongly  since  that  day  of  July  14  when  we  broke  the 
second  German  line  at  Longueval.  Men  are  fighting  here- 
abouts with  a  sense  of  victory  which  is  half  the  battle.  They 
feel,  rightly  or  wrongly,  that  they  have  the  German  on  the 
run  at  last,  and  that  by  getting  hard  on  to  him,  taking  all 
risks,  they  will  keep  him  running. 

The  rapid  and  far  progress  of  the  French  is  helping  our 
own  men,  not  only  in  a  military  way  by  "keeping  the  Boche 
busy,"  as  they  put  it,  but  as  a  moral  tonic,  showing  that  the 
German  strength  of  resistance  has  begun  to  crack.  The 
noise  of  the  French  guns  is  wonderful  music  to  British  sol- 
diers going  forward  to  their  own  part  of  the  battlefields, 
and,  by  Jove!  it  is  astounding  in  its  uproar,  as  I  heard  it 
to-day  again  on  our  right,  away  down  to  the  gates  of  Pe- 
ronne  in  a  great  roll  of  drum-fire  for  miles.  It  is  one  cease- 
less tattoo  of  "soizante-quinzes"  and  of  heavier  guns,  like 
a  titanic  hammering  of  anvils  in  the  smithies  of  the  gods  or 
devils. 

"Hark  at  them !    They  seem  to  be  getting  on  with  it  all 


266  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

right,"  said  an  English  officer  to-day,  and  listening  for  a 
moment  to  the  great  sweep  of  the  artillery  battle — for  our 
own  guns  were  firing  steadily  and  tremendously — he  added 
that  "the  enemy  is  having  a  really  thin  time.  We  are 
getting  on  top  at  last." 

It  is  this  sense  of  "getting  on  top"  that  is  inspiring  our 
men  to  fight  to  the  last  ounce  of  strength  on  this  right  wing 
of  our  attack,  up  to  Ginchy  and  beyond  Guillemont.  It  is 
literally  as  well  as  morally  a  desire  to  get  on  top,  up  the 
hill  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  to  the  last  vantage  point  of  the 
enemy,  and  it  is  to  push  him  off  and  over  that  high  point 
that  our  men  have  been  fighting  uphill  with  a  really  pas- 
sionate endeavour. 

They  got  all  round  the  place  a  few  days  ago  after  hard, 
bloody  fighting.  They  held  on  under  great  shell-fire  and 
machine-gun  fire,  and  many  men  took  the  last  hazard  in 
trying  to  force  their  way  into  the  stronghold  where  the 
enemy  is  entrenched  and  covered  with  well-placed  machine- 
guns.  Some  of  them  went  in,  and  stayed  in.  No  message 
has  come  back  from  them,  but  it  is  quite  likely  that  they  are 
still  there  as  a  living  wedge  in  the  enemy's  gates. 

One  party,  thirty  strong,  fought  their  way  along  a  sap 
to  the  north  of  the  village  and  established  a  bombing  post 
which  they  held  against  all  odds.  Their  rations  gave  out, 
but  they  would  not  go.  They  had  no  water,  and  suffered 
horribly  from  thirst,  but  not  a  man  would  go.  Their  am- 
munition was  nearly  spent,  but  they  waited  for  new  sup- 
plies, if  they  should  have  the  luck  to  get  them.  A  sergeant 
came  back  to  the  front  trench  with  this  tale  of  stubborn 
courage,  and  a  request  for  food  and  water  and  bombs  so 
that  the  thirty  might  still  "carry  on."  That  is  the  spirit 
with  which  our  men  are  fighting,  and  one  marvels  at  them. 

The  enemy  has  suffered  heavily  against  these  assaults,  and 
our  shell-fire  has  massacred  many  of  his  troops.  A  German 
officer  brought  back  from  the  outskirts  of  Ginchy  yesterday 
was  asked  what  casualties  he  had  in  his  company.  He  said, 
"Oh,  a  few,  not  many."     He  turned  away  and  tried  to  de- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  267 

stroy  a  scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  but  was  not  quick  enough. 
It  was  a  message  calling  urgently  for  rescue  and  saying 
that  his  men  were  unable  to  hold  out  any  longer,  as  there 
were  only  twenty  of  them  left  out  of  the  full  strength  of 
his  company. 

To-day  other  British  troops  have  forced  their  way  into 
the  stronghold,  but  as  yet  it  is  too  soon  to  know  whether 
they  can  maintain  their  position.  The  enemy  is  fighting 
bravely,  but  however  long  his  resistance  may  be,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Ginchy  will  be  added  to  the  list  of  all  those 
strongholds  which  have  fallen  one  after  another  under  our 
repeated  assaults.  For  Ginchy  must  be  ours  to  give  us  the 
end  of  the  ridge  and  to  link  up  the  line  with  Leuze  Wood, 
where  at  present  our  men  are  exposed  to  flanking  attacks. 


6 

The  difficulty  of  all  this  close  and  open  fighting,  where 
bodies  of  British  troops  press  on  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
enemy's  ditches,  and  where  bodies  of  Germans  hold  bits  of 
roadway  or  bits  of  trench  in  isolated  positions,  is  that  the 
guns  on  both  sides  cannot  concentrate  a  heavy  barrage  with- 
out killing  their  own  men.  In  this  kind  of  situation  the 
German  gunners  are  ruthless,  but  sometimes  that  method 
does  not  pay. 

In  spite  of  all  their  skill — for  they  are  good  gunners,  these 
Germans — they  were  scared  enough  to  withdraw  their  field 
batteries  to  a  safer  distance  before  our  final  attack  on  Guille- 
mont  last  Sunday.  Some  of  our  officers  fighting  here  told 
me  that  there  were  very  few  "whizz-bangs"  about  that  day, 
and  it  was  all  shell  fire  from  heavy  long-range  guns. 

Before  our  attack  they  opened  an  intense  bombardment 
upon  Trones  Wood.  It  smashed  in  steady  lines  of  shells — 
the  great  "five-point-nines" — right  through  the  wood,  and 
was  maintained  mercilessly  for  many  hours.  Some  of  our 
men  behind  the  front  lines  had  escapes  from  death  which 


268  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

seem  like  miracles.  One  young  officer  I  know  received  an 
invitation  to  tea  at  a  dug-out  a  few  hundred  yards,  I  reckon, 
from  his  own  hole  in  the  earth  where  he  lay  with  two  com- 
rades. It  was  a  pleasant  and  friendly  idea,  that  cup  of  tea, 
but  he  decided  against  it  when  he  heard  the  awful  crash 
of  shells  outside. 

Later  a  message  came  that  he  must  go  on  a  matter  of 
business.  It  was  his  duty  to  go,  and  so  he  went  as  fast  as 
possible.  A  moment  or  two  after  reaching  the  other  dug-out 
there  was  the  tinkle  of  a  telephone  bell,  and  he  heard  that 
both  his  comrades  had  been  killed  by  the  direct  hit  of  a 
five-point-nine.  He  went  back  with  a  soldier  to  see  if  there 
was  any  hope  for  his  friends — one  of  them  might  be 
wounded  only — and  as  he  went  a  shell  exploded  a  yard  or 
two  away,  the  man  by  his  side  was  killed,  and  his  shoulder 
was  splashed  with  the  man's  blood,  but  he  was  left  un- 
scathed. 

Our  bombardment  before  the  attack  on  Guillemont  was 
more  effective.  There  were  not  many  Germans  here  or  in 
the  Sunken  Road,  or  higher  up  in  the  trenches  by  Ginchy, 
who  had  miraculous  escapes.  They  were  killed  in  masses. 
A  great  number  of  dead  were  found  by  our  men  outside 
Guillemont  in  the  Sunken  Road,  which  was  the  German 
third  line  of  defence  there.  They  were  a  frightful  sight, 
as  many  of  them  were  quite  naked,  all  their  clothes  having 
been  stripped  ofif  by  the  blasting  force  of  high  explosives. 
Some  men,  untouched  by  fragments  of  shell,  were  killed  by 
the  enormous  concussion  of  air  or  by  heart  shock,  and  there 
was  one  dead  man  kneeling,  and  still  grasping  his  rifle  with 
fixed  bayonet. 

The  successful  attack  on  Guillemont  was  due  to  the  effect 
of  our  shell-fire  on  the  garrison.  When  the  infantry  ad- 
vanced they  met  with  but  little  hostile  machine-gun  fire. 
Most  of  the  Germans  were  dazed  and  done.  They  had  no 
alertness  left  in  them  to  bring  up  their  weapons  and  resist 
the  attack.  Even  many  of  the  dug-outs  were  blown  in.  A 
sergeant  of  one  of  the  companies  who  came  up  in  support — 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  269 

one  of  those  splendid  N.C.O.'s  to  whom  the  steadiness  of 
our  troops  is  largely  due — told  me  to-day  that  he  went  into 
one  deep  dug-out  where  forty  men  were  lying.  Only  three 
were  alive,  and  of  those  two  were  badly  wounded.  In  other 
dug-outs  there  were  many  dead. 

This  was  in  the  Sunken  Road,  where  afterwards  our  men 
"organised"  the  bank,  digging  themselves  in  so  as  to  get 
cover  from  the  heavy  barrage  flung  upon  them  by  the 
German  artillery  after  the  capture  of  the  position.  A  lance- 
corporal  was  killed  here  by  the  side  of  my  sergeant  friend, 
who  buried  him  where  he  fell.  And  another  shell  killed  six 
men  in  a  heap  just  as  these  troops  were  relieved  and  went 
back  for  a  little  while  into  the  support  lines.  They,  too, 
were  buried  by  another  lance-corporal  who  volunteered  to  go 
back  for  the  purpose,  and  went  under  heavy  shell-fire  to  do 
this  last  service  to  good  comrades. 

Lord!  how  many  stories  of  this  kind  I  have  told!  The 
spirit  of  our  men  in  these  hideous  places  and  in  these  fright- 
ful hours  is  always  the  same,  indomitable  and  unbroken  by 
the  worst  ordeals. 

7 

September  9 

The  first  mention  that  the  Irish  troops  were  fighting  at 
Guillemont  has  been  made  officially,  and  it  is  now  possible 
for  me  to  write  about  them  in  more  detail.  Their  charge 
through  Guillemont  last  Sunday,  with  English  battalions  of 
riflemen  on  their  right,  was  one  of  the  most  astonishing 
feats  in  the  war,  almost  too  fast  in  its  impetuosity.  They 
went  forward  with  their  pipes  playing  them  on,  in  a  wild 
and  irresistible  assault. 

If  there  had  been  three  times  the  number  of  enemy 
against  them  they  would  not  have  been  checked  until  they 
had  carried  the  northern  part  of  the  ruined  waste  that  was 
once  a  village.  The  English  troops  who  fought  with  them 
tell  me  that  they  have  never  seen  anything  like  the  way  in 


270  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

which  these  Irishmen  dashed  ahead.  "It  was  Hke  a  human 
avalanche,"  said  one  of  them. 

The  officers  cheered  their  men  on  as  they  came  alongside. 
One  of  their  commanding  officers,  following  the  last  across, 
picked  up  pieces  of  chalk  and  threw  them  after  his  men, 
shouting  good  luck  to  them.  They  stormed  the  first,  sec- 
ond and  third  German  lines  through  the  upper  part  of  the 
village,  sweeping  all  resistance  away,  and  not  stopping  to 
take  breath.  They  were  men  uplifted,  out  of  themselves, 
"fey,"  as  the  Scots  would  call  it. 

Death  had  no  terror  for  them,  nor  all  the  dead  men  who 
lay  in  their  way.  After  months  of  dull  and  dogged  fight- 
ing in  the  trenches,  where  they  were  restless  in  their  ditches, 
they  were  excited  at  getting  out  into  the  open  and  meeting 
the  enemy  face  to  face.  It  was  not  good  to  be  a  German 
in  their  way. 

The  only  fault  with  this  fighting  at  Guillemont  was  the 
rapidity  of  pace,  which  gave  them  no  time  to  safeguard 
the  ground  behind  them.  But  that  was  a  fault  due  to  the 
splendour  of  their  gallantry,  and  no  harm  came  from  it. 
The  English  riflemen  who  fought  on  their  right  had  more 
solidity  in  their  way  of  going  about  the  business,  but  they 
were  so  inspired  by  the  sight  of  the  Irish  dash  and  by  the 
sound  of  the  Irish  pipes  that  those  who  were  in  support, 
under  orders  to  stand  and  hold  the  first  German  line,  could 
hardly  be  restrained  from  following  on. 

"I  nearly  blew  my  teeth  out  of  my  head,  in  whistling  'em 
back,"  said  an  English  sergeant.    But  discipline  prevailed. 

The  whole  attack  from  first  to  last  was  a  model  of  effi- 
ciency, organisation  and  courage.  All  the  qualities  that  go 
to  the  making  of  victory  were  here,  fitting  in  with  each 
other,  balancing  each  other,  making  a  terrific  weapon  driven 
by  a  high  spirit.  The  artillery  was  in  perfect  union  with 
the  infantry — the  most  difficult  thing  in  war — the  brigadiers 
and  the  officers  carried  out  the  general  plan  to  the  letter,  and 
the  men — it  is  impossible  to  overpraise  the  men,  who  were 
wonderful  in  courage  and  wonderful  in  discipline. 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  271 


As  far  as  the  English  battalions  were  concerned  they  were 
recruited  since  the  first  phase  of  the  war,  but  as  one  of 
their  officers — once  of  the  Guards — told  me  yesterday,  there 
are  no  regular  soldiers,  no  soldiers  of  any  army  in  the 
world,  who  could  have  attacked  in  a  finer  and  more  dis- 
ciplined way  than  these  young  riflemen,  as  cold  as  ice  in 
self-control,  but  on  fire  with  the  resolve  to  win.  The  first 
rush  of  Irish  on  the  left  went  over,  as  I  have  said,  playing 
their  pipes — old  songs  of  victory  which  could  be  heard 
through  the  swish  of  machine-gun  bullets  and  the  crash 
of  the  German  crumps. 

The  assaulting  troops  on  the  right  went  more  quietly, 
and  at  the  first  short  halt  to  wait  for  the  barrage  of  our 
guns,  which  was  smashing  ahead  of  them,  lit  their  cigarettes, 
and  then  went  on  again  with  their  rifles  slung,  as  though 
marching  on  a  field  day. 

"Where's  that  village  we've  got  to  take?"  they  shouted, 
staring  at  a  choppy  sea  of  shell-craters,  where  there  was 
hardly  a  stick  or  a  stone. 

I  have  already  described  the  assault  on  the  first  lines, 
where  our  men  found  many  German  dead.  But  strange 
things  happened  between  the  first  and  second  lines.  The 
Irish  on  the  left,  who  had  gone  so  quickly  forward  in  their 
great  ''hooroosh,"  had  failed  to  clear  up  all  the  dug-outs  as 
they  went. 

Some  of  the  Germans  there  climbed  out  and  began  snip- 
ing in  the  rear.  It  was  a  dangerous  menace,  but  with  quick 
judgment  the  colonel  of  an  English  battalion  on  the  right 
diverted  five  of  his  platoons  to  that  direction,  and  they 
searched  all  the  dug-outs  and  broke  up  the  enemy's  attempt 
to  rally. 

One  dug-out  near  the  quarry  at  the  central  entrance  of 
Guillemont  was  discovered  by  a  young  gunner  officer,  who 
had  come  down  behind  the  advancing  infantry  "just  to  look 


272  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

round,"  as  he  puts  it,  after  he  had  done  his  work  with  some 
sixty  pounder  plum-pudding  bombs  from  a  neighbouring 
position.  With  him  were  his  corporal  and  one  or  two  other 
men  of  the  trench-mortar  battery. 

In  looking  round  he  discovered  a  slit  in  the  rock,  which 
seemed  to  lead  down  into  an  underground  chamber,  and 
having  explored  it  came  down  into  a  deep  place  where 
twenty  German  soldiers  and  one  officer  were  hiding.  It  was 
a  surprise,  but  he  held  his  revolver  ready  and  said  "Hands 
up !"  They  surrendered  quietly,  clicking  their  heels  together 
and  saluting,  after  they  had  been  searched  for  arms,  and  the 
officer,  who  was  a  polite  fellow,  offered  the  corporal  a  valu- 
able gold  watch  as  a  souvenir  of  the  occasion. 

That  was  one  little  adventure  on  the  edge  of  things. 
Further  forward  each  man  was  in  the  middle  of  a  great 
adventure,  gruesome  and  full  of  peril.  An  enveloping 
movement  was  being  made  by  English  troops  to  the  south- 
west of  the  village,  on  the  choppy  ground  on  which  Guille- 
mont  once  stood,  and  it  was  here  that  most  opposition  was 
encountered,  between  two  sunken  roads.  In  the  second 
sunken  road,  where  the  enemy  had  a  row  of  strong  dug-outs, 
the  ground  was  thick  with  huddled  dead. 

But  from  the  dug-outs  a  large  number  of  living  men 
who  climbed  on  to  the  parapet  in  front  of  them  maintained 
a  fusillade  of  rifle  fire  and  bombs.  In  the  ground  between 
the  two  sunken  roads  men  climbed  halfway  out  of  shell- 
craters  and  sniped  our  men  as  they  came  forward.  At  the 
same  time  machine-gun  fire  was  coming  down  from  Ginchy 
and  up  from  Falfemont  Farm.  It  was  difficult  ground  to 
cover,  but  our  riflemen  ignored  the  bullets  and  the  bombs 
and  went  straight  forward,  halting  only  to  fire,  and  then 
going  on  again,  and  firing  again,  as  though  on  manoeuvres. 

Some  Lewis  gunners  ran  forward  and  played  a  hose  of 
bullets  upon  the  enemy's  parapet,  so  that  the  men  dropped. 
Some  of  our  own  men  had  fallen,  too,  but  the  wounded 
crawled  into  shell-holes  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  shouted 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  273 

"Go  on,  boys !"  or  just  crawled  in  silently  and  uncomplain- 
ingly, not  asking  for  help  however  bad  their  wounds. 

Then  the  Germans  started  running  and  our  men  went 
after  them.  One  fellow  flung  off  his  pack  and  chased  one 
of  them  until  he  had  him  by  the  neck.  A  German  officer 
who  surrendered  threw  up  his  hands  and  said,  "If  you  run 
like  that  you'll  be  in  Berlin  before  we're  in  England." 
There  were  150  dead  in  one  part  of  the  sunken  road  and 
the  dug-outs  were  crowded.  Into  one  of  them  a  smoke 
bomb  was  thrown  to  tease  the  men  out,  but  they  would  not 
come.  Then  a  Mills  bomb  was  flung  in  as  a  stronger 
argument,  but  before  it  exploded  it  was  flung  back  again. 
After  that  the  Germans  retreated  through  a  tunnel  and 
ran  out  at  another  entrance,  where  they  were  taken  prisoner. 
Twenty-five  of  them  were  put  into  a  shell-crater  under 
guard  of  one  little  rifleman,  who  strutted  up  and  down  in 
a  German  helmet  with  his  bayonet  high  above  his  head  and 
a  pride  twice  as  high  as  his  bayonet. 

In  one  dug-out,  as  I  wrote  in  my  first  narrative,  there 
were  forty-one  bodies,  of  whom  only  three  were  alive,  and 
those  were  weeping.  All  the  prisoners,  of  whom  there  were 
about  600,  were  in  a  pitiful  condition,  as  our  artillery  fire 
had  prevented  them  from  getting  any  rations  for  three  days. 
Their  spirit  was  broken  and  they  were  trembling  with  fear. 


In  our  dug-outs  further  back  were  three  officers,  one  of 
whom,  a  young  captain,  was  clearly  in  command  of  the 
whole  garrison  of  Guillemont,  and  afterwards,  when  we 
passed  the  prisoners'  cage  behind  the  lines,  all  the  men 
sprang  up  and  saluted  him  with  profound  respect.  He  was 
the  only  man  who  maintained  a  proud  indifference  at  the 
moment  of  capture.  He  stood  very  straight  and  still,  as 
though  not  caring  whether  he  lived  or  died.  The  two 
officers  with  him  clung  about  the  necks  of  our  own  officers 


274  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

crying  for  mercy.  In  another  place  an  officer  fell  down  on 
his  knees  with  his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  prayer  and  his 
head  bowed,  and  one  man  pulled  out  a  photograph  of  his 
wife  and  children,  holding  that  out  as  his  strongest  plea 
for  life.  Our  men  had  no  thought  to  take  their  lives.  As 
one  of  the  sergeants  said  to  me,  "As  soon  as  a  man  sur- 
renders it's  an  end  of  the  fight,  and  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

It  was  hard  for  some  of  our  men  to  be  sorry  for  the 
enemy  in  those  wild  moments  about  the  dug-outs,  for  some 
of  them  flung  bombs  until  the  last  yard  had  been  covered  by 
our  troops,  then  disappeared  into  their  holes  and  came  up 
further  away  with  an  air  of  innocence  and  meekness.  In 
one  or  two  bad  cases  of  fighting  after  a  sign  of  surrender 
it  was  the  authority  of  the  British  officers  which  saved  the 
lives  of  German  soldiers  standing  by. 

But  on  the  whole  the  prisoners  were  well  behaved  and 
very  glad  to  get  away  from  the  horror  of  Guillemont,  grate- 
ful for  being  given  the  chance  of  life.  One  sergeant  of  ours, 
hit  in  the  hip  by  a  piece  of  shell,  captured  four  men  without 
help,  and  then  ordered  them  to  carry  him  back  on  a  stretcher 
to  the  dressing  station,  where  he  arrived,  smoking  a  cigar- 
ette, with  his  prisoner  stretcher-bearers. 

Words  can  convey  very  little  of  all  those  scenes  in  Guille- 
mont— the  isolated  fights,  the  storming  of  dug-outs,  the 
searching  of  prisoners,  the  crowds  of  British  soldiers  mov- 
ing forward  to  new  lines  behind  our  terrific  curtain  fire,  the 
Lewis  gunners  rushing  through  with  their  machine-guns  to 
take  up  positions  at  advanced  points,  the  supporting  and 
consolidating  troops  coming  up  behind  the  assaulting  troops, 
starting  to  dig  as  soon  as  the  ground  had  been  gained,  the 
stretcher-bearers  rummaging  about  among  the  shell  craters 
for  stricken  men,  the  walking  wounded  making  their  way 
back  across  the  rough  ground,  dazed,  and  sometimes  falling 
not  to  rise  again,  the  cheers  of  men  taking  the  last  sunken 
road  to  the  east  of  Guillemont,  where  they  consolidated  a 
defensive  position  for  the  night,  the  wild  music  of  the  Irish 
pipers,  the  crash  of  German  shells,  the  high  whine  of  Ger- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  GUILLEMONT  275 

man  shrapnel,  the  long  rush  of  our  heavies  passing  over- 
head to  "Lousy"  Wood,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  tumult, 
the  quiet  dead. 

lO 

In  quiet  heroism,  of  the  suffering  and  not  of  the  fighting 
kind,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  finest  thing  was  done  by  a 
wounded  man.  That  at  least  is  the  opinion  of  a  command- 
ing officer  who  met  him  on  his  way.  His  face  had  been 
terribly  smashed  by  a  piece  of  shell,  but  he  waved  back  the 
stretcher-bearers  with  a  sign  that  others  needed  carrying 
more  than  he  did.  Then,  a  solitary  and  ghastly  figure,  he 
walked  back  to  the  dressing-station,  and  laid  himself  down. 

Of  the  German  garrison  of  2,000  men  hardly  one,  if  any 
one,  escaped.  The  figure  has  been  accounted  for  in  dead, 
wounded  and  prisoners.  Two  German  battalions  have  thus 
been  wiped  out.  Among  them  were  men  who  wear  the 
word  "Gibraltar"  on  their  shouWer  straps,  belonging  to  the 
famous  Hanoverian  regiment  which  fought  side  by  side  with 
us  on  the  Rock  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

It  was  after  the  battle  that  our  men  suffered  most,  for 
during  the  next  forty-eight  hours  there  were  violent  storms, 
which  filled  the  shell-craters  with  water  so  that  men  were 
up  to  their  shoulders  in  it.  But  they  had  dug  magnificently 
before  the  rain  came,  under  the  inspiration  of  a  splendid 
colonel,  who  cried  "Dig,  dig,  for  God's  sake!  Dig,  my 
lads !"  knowing  that  he  would  save  their  lives  by  every  foot 
of  earth  turned  up  by  the  German  shovels  they  used  for  the 
work.  In  three  hours  they  had  dug  an  eight-foot  trench 
in  the  village. 

So  Guillemont  was  taken  and  held,  not  only  by  great  gun- 
fire but  by  men  inspired  with  some  spirit  beyond  their  ordi- 
nary courage,  and  one  day  these  troops  will  carry  the  name 
upon  their  colours,  so  that  the  world  may  remember. 


XXVIII 
THE  IRISH  AT  GINCHY 


I 

September  io 
The  capture  of  Ginchy  by  the  Irish  Brigades  should  be  told 
not  in  journalist's  prose  but  in  heroic  verse.  Poor  Ireland 
will  weep  tears  over  it,  for  many  of  her  sons  have  fallen,  but 
there  will  be  pride  also  in  the  heart  of  the  Irish  people,  be- 
cause these  men  of  Munster,  Dublin,  and  Connaught,  and  of 
all  parts  of  the  west  and  the  south,  have  done  such  splendid 
things  in  courage  and  endurance,  adding  a  very  noble  epi- 
sode to  the  history  of  the  Celtic  race. 

When  they  came  out  of  the  battle  this  morning  they  were 
weary  and  spent,  and  they  had  left  many  good  comrades 
behind  them,  but  the  spirit  of  the  war  sustained  them,  and 
they  came  marching  steadily  with  their  heads  held  high.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  moving  things  I  have  ever  seen  in  this 
war. 

A  great  painter  would  have  found  here  a  subject  to  thrill 
his  soul,  that  long  trail  of  Irish  regiments,  horribly  reduced 
by  their  losses,  and  with  but  few  officers  to  lead  them,  com- 
ing across  a  stretch  of  barren  country  strewn  with  the 
wreckage  of  two  years'  bombardment,  and  crowded  with  the 
turmoil  of  the  present  fighting. 

Behind  them  arose  the  black  curtain  of  smoke  across  the 
battlefields  through  which  there  came  the  enormous  noise  of 
the  unending  gun-fire,  and  around  them  were  some  of  our 
own  batteries  hard  at  work  with  great  hammer-strokes  as 
their  shells  went  on  their  way  to  the  enemy's  lines,  but  ahead 
of  them  walked  one  Irish  piper  playing  them  home  to  the 

276 


THE  IRISH  AT  GINCHY  277 

harvest-fields  of  peace  with  a  lament  for  those  who  will 
never  come  back. 


A  brigadier  came  riding  over  the  fields  to  meet  them.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  them  together  since  the  early 
dawn  of  to-day,  when  they  were  still  fighting  beyond  the 
ruins  of  Ginchy,  which  they  had  won  by  a  great  assault. 

He  stood,  a  solitary  figure  by  the  side  of  the  track  down 
which  his  men  came,  and  there  was  a  great  tenderness  in  the 
eyes  of  this  brigadier  as  he  watched  them  pass,  and  called 
out  to  them  words  of  thanks,  and  words  of  good  cheer, 
and  turned  to  me  now  and  then  to  say  how  splendid  they 
had  been. 

"Eyes  right !"  shouted  the  officers  or  sergeants  who  were 
leading  their  companies,  and  the  general  said,  "Carry  on, 
there,"  and  "Well  done — you  did  gloriously."  "Bravo, 
Dublins!  .  .  .  You  did  well,  damned  well,  Munsters,  my 
lads!" 

The  men's  eyes  brightened  at  the  sight  of  him ;  and  they 
squared  up,  and  grinned  under  German  caps  and  German 
helmets. 

"Hullo,  Greene!"  called  out  the  brigadier  to  a  very  tall 
fellow  tramping  in  the  outside  file.  "Glad  to  see  you're  all 
right.    And  a  big  target,  too !" 

The  music  of  the  Irish  pipes  went  calling  down  to  the 
valley,  and  I  watched  the  men  out  of  sight  with  something 
stirring  at  my  heart.  Earlier  in  the  morning,  before  they 
had  formed  up,  I  had  been  among  them  and  had  heard  many 
stories  of  great  adventure  and  of  great  courage,  told  some- 
times with  an  Irish  humour  that  finds  a  whimsicality  even 
in  the  most  awful  moments,  and  sometimes  with  the  sad- 
ness of  men  who  mourn  for  their  friends,  but  wonderfully 
untouched  by  the  fearful  strain  of  it  all  and  with  a  grim  joy 
in  their  victory. 

Some  of  them  had  been  in  Gallipoli,  and  one  sergeant  of 


278  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  Munsters  told  me  that  the  taking  of  Ginchy  was  the 
"hottest"  thing  he  had  seen  since  the  landing  on  August  21 
at  Suvla  Bay.  There  were  two  men  in  his  regiment  who 
had  fought  all  through  from  Mons,  and  had  escaped  from 
the  hell  of  the  Dardanelles,  but  had  fallen  now,  at  last,  on 
the  way  up  from  Guillemont.  He  and  other  men  of  the  old 
Regulars  spoke  of  the  regiments  of  the  New  Army  who 
had  fought  with  them  to-day. 

"They  were  just  great.  The  Irish  Rifles  went  through 
like  a  whirlwind.  There  was  no  stopping  them.  When 
the  Germans  ran  you  couldn't  see  them  for  dust." 


The  story  of  the  Irish  Brigades  does  not  begin  at  Ginchy. 
It  begins  last  Sunday,  a  week  ago,  at  Guillemont,  when 
one  brigade,  as  I  have  already  described  in  an  earlier 
despatch,  went  through  the  northern  part  of  that  village  in 
one  fierce  assault  which  would  not  be  checked.  After  that 
(as  well  as  before)  they  lay  under  heavy  shell-fire,  without 
sleep  and  without  hot  food  or  much  water,  until  the  new 
attack,  when  they  were  on  the  right  of  the  assault. 

The  brigade  on  the  left,  which  had  the  greatest  triumph 
yesterday,  was  lying  out  in  connected  shell-craters  (the  old 
kind  of  trench,  neatly  revetted,  with  strong  traverses  and 
cosy  dug-outs,  does  not  exist  in  this  part  of  the  battle-line). 
For  five  days  they  held  on  stubbornly  under  ceaseless  shell- 
fire.  When  the  hour  of  "zero"  came  for  the  attack  they 
were  not  broken  in  spirit,  as  weaker  men  would  have  been 
after  all  this  trial,  but  eager  to  get  out  and  get  on — "to  get 
some  of  their  own  back." 

The  Germans  in  Ginchy  would  have  had  more  terror  in 
their  hearts  if  they  had  known  the  character  of  the  men 
who  were  about  to  storm  their  stronghold.  They  would 
have  prayed  to  God  to  save  them  from  the  Irish.  As  it 
was,  these  German  soldiers  were  not  feeling  safe.     They 


THE  IRISH  AT  GINCHY  279 

were  new  men  just  sent  up  to  the  line,  and  conscious  of  a 
frightful  menace  about  them.  They  belonged  to  the  185th 
Division,  the  19th  Bavarian  Division,  and  the  machine-gun 
company  of  the  88th  Division.  They  crouched  down  in  a 
network  of  dug-outs  and  tunnels  under  the  ruins  of  the 
village  expecting  attack,  and  determined,  as  we  know  now, 
to  sell  their  lives  dearly.     They  were  brave  men. 


The  attack  began  yesterday  afternoon  shortly  before  five 
o'clock  after  a  heavy  bombardment.  The  Irish  sprang  up 
and  went  forward  cheering.  They  shouted  "Go  on,  Mun- 
sters !"  "Go  on,  Dublins !"  and  old  Celtic  cries.  "Now  then, 
Irish  Rifles!"  Our  shell-fire  crept  up  in  front  of  them. 
They  went  from  the  south  in  four  waves  in  open  order, 
with  about  50  yards  between  each  wave,  and  on  the  left 
the  troops  reached  their  first  halting  place  in  the  village, 
right  across  the  first  German  trenches  and  dug-outs,  in  eight 
minutes  after  starting  time — a  distance  of  600  yards,  which 
is  a  wonderful  record. 

On  the  right  the  Irish  were  checked  by  three  machine- 
guns  well  placed  for  very  deadly  work  and  sweeping  the 
ground  with  waves  of  bullets.  Many  poor  fellows  dropped. 
Others  fell  deliberately  with  their  faces  to  the  earth  so  that 
the  bullets  might  skim  above  their  prone  bodies.  At  the 
same  time  the  Irish  officers  and  men  were  being  sniped  by 
German  marksmen  who  had  crept  out  into  shell-craters.  It 
was  a  serious  situation  here  unless  the  machine-guns  could 
be  "killed.;; 

A  brilliant  little  piece  of  tactics  was  done  by  the  troops 
on  the  left  of  the  right  wing,  who  swung  round  and  attacked 
the  machine-gun  position  from  the  west  and  north,  in  an 
encircling  movement  so  that  the  German  teams  had  to  run 
out  of  the  loop  with  their  weapons  to  some  broken  trenches 
300  yards  away,  where  they  again  fired  until  knocked  out 


THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

by  some  trench  mortars  attached  to  one  of  the  Irish  bat- 
talions. This  enabled  the  right  wing  to  advance  and  join 
the  left,  and  they  then  advanced  together  through  the  vil- 
lage, with  the  Irish  Rifles  remaining  to  hold  the  captured 
groimd,  and  the  Dublins  charging  ahead. 

In  the  centre  of  the  village  among  all  the  dug-outs  and 
tunnels  was  the  ruin  of  an  old  farm  in  which  the  enemy  had 
another  machine-gun  which  they  served  with  bursts  of  fire. 
Again  our  trench  mortar  men  saved  the  situation.  They 
came  on  with  the  infantry,  and  ranged  their  little  engines 
on  to  the  farm,  aiming  with  such  skill  that  the  hostile  ma- 
chine-gun was  put  out  of  action  by  a  short  storm  of  high 
explosives. 

The  men  were  still  suffering  from  snipers  and  ordinary 
riflemen  hidden  in  all  kinds  of  places  in  the  northern  half  of 
the  village,  where  there  were  concreted  and  tunnelled  cham- 
bers with  loop-holes  level  with  the  ground,  through  which 
they  shot.  The  Irish  were  reckless  of  all  this  and  swept 
over  the  place  fiercely,  searching  out  their  enemies.  In  shell- 
craters  and  bits  of  upheaved  earth  and  down  in  the  dug- 
outs there  was  hand-to-hand  fighting  of  the  grimmest  kind. 
The  Bavarians  struggled  savagely,  using  bombs  and  rifles, 
and  fighting  even  with  the  bayonet  until  they  were  killed 
with  the  same  weapon. 

It  was  all  very  quick.  Within  ten  minutes  of  reaching 
the  line  half-way  through  the  village  the  leading  Dublins 
had  got  to  the  northern  end  of  it  and  sent  out  advanced 
parties  200  yards  beyond.  But  there  was  one  menace, 
which  might  have  led  to  disaster  but  for  quick  wit  and 
fighting  genius. 

The  Irish  had  expected  that  their  left  flank  would  be  sup- 
ported by  other  troops  attacking  between  Ginchy  and  Del- 
ville  Wood,  but  owing  to  the  difficulty  of  the  ground  in 
that  neighbourhood  and  the  rapidity  of  the  Irish  advance 
this  had  not  been  possible,  and  the  victors  of  Ginchy  found 
themselves  with  an  exposed  flank  to  the  north-west  of  the 
village.     A  young  sapper  officer  from  Dublin  realised  the 


THE  IRISH  AT  GINCHY  281 

situation,  and  taking  command  of  a  body  of  men  dug  a 
defensive  flank  and  established  strong  posts  as  a  protection 
against  a  counter-attack.  The  situation  on  the  extreme 
right  was  for  some  time  equally  perilous,  as  the  troops 
engaged  in  an  enterprise  on  that  side  had  not  yet  made  good 
their  ground,  and  the  splendid  achievement  of  the  Irish 
Brigade,  from  a  military  point  of  view,  is  their  success — 
quite  astoundingly  good — of  taking  a  hostile  front  of  900 
yards  to  the  depth  of  nearly  a  mile  with  no  supporting 
troops  on  either  flank. 


From  a  non-military,  untechnical,  human  point  of  view 
the  greatness  of  the  capture  of  Ginchy  is  just  in  the  valour 
of  those  Irish  boys  who  were  not  covv^ed  by  that  sight  of 
death  very  close  to  them  and  all  about  them,  and  who  went 
straight  on  to  the  winning-posts  like  Irish  racehorses.  The 
men  who  were  ordered  to  stay  in  the  village  almost  wept 
with  rage  because  they  could  not  join  in  the  next  assault. 

"We  would  have  gone  on  into  the  blue,"  said  one  of  them, 
"except  for  all  this  confounded  diplomacy."  Diplomacy  is 
a  fine  word  for  the  simple  law  of  safeguarding  the  captured 
ground;  but  you  see  the  spirit  which  used  it.  It  was  the 
same  spirit  which  caused  the  temporary  desertion  of  three 
Irish  servants  on  the  Brigade  Staff.  One  of  them  left  a 
note  yesterday  morning  on  his  master's  table :  "As  I  could 
not  be  at  Guillemont  I  am  going  to  Ginchy.  I  hope  to  be 
back  again,  so  please  excuse." 

Fine  and  wonderful  men!  There  was  a  Sinn  Feiner 
among  them,  with  all  the  passion  of  his  political  creed  and 
"a  splendid  soldier,"  said  one  of  his  officers,  who  is  an 
Englishman.  Nationalists  and  Catholics,  Irish  to  the  bone, 
with  every  tradition  of  their  race  in  their  blood  and  spirit, 
they  fought  yesterday  and  in  the  dawn  of  to-day  with- 
out any  thought  of  grievance  or  any  memory  of  hatred, 


S82  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

except  against  the  enemy  whom  they  call  "jerry,"  instead  of 
Fritz. 

In  fair  fight  they  were  relentless,  but  they  were  kind  to 
their  prisoners.  It  is  queer  how  hatred  and  kindness  alter- 
nate in  these  men.  One  man  told  me  the  strangest  tale  with 
absolute  truth,  I  am  sure,  because  of  his  fine,  steady  eyes. 
He  captured  a  big  Saxon  in  a  shell-hole  the  night  before  the 
attack.  The  man  was  wounded  in  the  leg  and  back,  but 
held  a  revolver,  and  was  not  too  ill  to  fight.  But  he  had 
no  fight  left  in  him  when  the  Irishman  jumped  down  to  him. 

"Are  you  going  to  kill  me?"  he  asked,  in  good  English. 

"Sure,  no,"  said  the  Irishman.  "But  just  put  away  that 
pistol,  won't  you?"  Then  the  Irish  sergeant  undid  his  own 
field  dressing  and  bound  up  the  man's  leg  and  back  (it  was 
all  under  the  loud  whistling  of  shells),  and  said,  "Now  get 
along  with  you  back  to  your  own  lines,  for  faith  I  don't 
mean  any  harm  to  you." 

So  away  went  the  German  into  Ginchy,  and  afterwards, 
no  doubt,  wished  he  hadn't. 

A  tall  Irishman,  describing  the  great  charge  to  me,  said : 
"The  small,  little  men  went  over  with  the  greatest  pluck,  sir, 
so  that  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  see.  And  the  Jerry  boys 
ran  that  fast  the  dust  was  in  their  throats,  it  was." 

'How  did  you  get  that  Boche  cap?"  one  man  asked  an- 
other.    "Did  you  kill  your  man?" 

"Did  I  kill  him  ?  .  .  .  I  brought  down  fourteen  prisoners 
all  by  myself,  I  did,  and  if  you  don't  believe  it,  here's  my 
receipt  for  the  same." 

He  held  out  a  slip  of  paper,  and  there  sure  enough  was 
the  officer's  receipt  for  the  fourteen  men. 

One  German  climbed  up  a  tree  during  the  attack.  He  had 
a  white  cap-band  and  a  white  ribbon  on  his  shoulder,  and 
seemed  to  be  signalling. 

"Now,  come  down,  Jerry,"  shouted  five  Irishmen  in  a 
chorus.    "If  you  don't  come  down  we'll  shoot  you,  we  will." 

The  man  would  not  come  down. 

"And  sure  we  shot  him,"  was  the  end  of  the  story. 


THE  IRISH  AT  GINCHY  283 

The  honours  of  the  day  are  with  the  Irish,  and  these 
gallant  men  hope— they  spoke  about  it,  pleadingly— that 
their  losses  will  be  filled  up  by  Irishmen,  so  that  the  spirit 
of  their  regiments  may  be  kept. 


XXIX 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS 


I 

September  i6 
Another  day  of  great  remembrance  has  been  given  to  our 
history  by  British  troops,  September  the  Fifteenth,  that 
will  not  quickly  pass  out  of  the  memory  of  our  people,  for 
on  that  day,  which  was  yesterday,  our  soldiers  broke 
through  the  enemy's  third  line  of  defence  and  went  out  into 
open  country,  and  gave  staggering  blows  to  that  German 
war-machine  which  for  two  years,  all  but  two  months, 
seemed  unbreakably  strong  against  us. 

It  was  a  day  of  good  success,  yesterday.  It  was  no  longer 
a  promise  of  future  victory,  dependent  upon  all  the  flukes 
and  chances  of  war,  with  their  awful  hazards,  but,  for  one 
day  at  least,  not  looking  further,  the  real  thing. 

Our  men  had  the  taste  of  victory,  and  it  was  like  a  strong 
drug  to  their  hearts,  so  that  they  laughed  even  while  blood 
was  streaming  down  their  faces,  and  said :  "It's  wonder- 
ful!" when  they  came  limping  off  the  battlefields  with 
wounds  on  fire,  and  said  :  "We  made  'em  run  like  rabbits !" 
when  they  lay  on  stretchers  and  could  not  move  without  a 
groan. 

And  it  was  wonderful  indeed.  For  this  day  of  victory 
came  after  two  and  a  half  months  of  continued  and  most 
bloody  fighting.  This  new  British  Army  of  ours  had  not 
had  an  easy  walk  through  after  its  time  of  preparation  and 
training  in  the  dirty  ditches  of  the  old  trench  warfare. 

The  task  that  was  set  to  our  soldiers  yesterday  would 
have  been  formidable  on  the  first  day  of  a  great  offensive. 

284 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  285 

Coming  after  two  and  a  half  months,  it  was  startling  in  its 
boldness,  and  showed  that  our  generals  had  supreme  con- 
fidence in  the  men,  in  their  own  powers  of  organisation,  and 
in  the  luck  of  battle  that  comes  to  those  who  have  worked 
for  it.  The  enemy  believed  that  our  offensive  had  petered 
out.     There  is  much  evidence  for  that. 

They  did  not  believe  it  possible  that  an  army  of  our  size 
and  strength  could  carry  on  the  attack  at  the  same  fierce 
pace.  They  cherished  the  hope  that  our  divisions  were 
broken  and  spent,  that  our  stores  of  ammunition  were  giv- 
ing out,  and  that  our  men  were  overtired. 

They  still  had  faith  in  their  own  gun-power,  the  defensive 
strength  of  a  thousand  guns  against  the  British  front,  and 
it  was  a  reasonable  faith.  They  had  been  digging  furiously 
on  dark  nights  to  strengthen  the  third  line  of  defence — the 
famous  Flers  line,  which  was,  they  thought,  to  be  the 
boundary  of  our  advancing  tide,  and  though  they  were 
anxious,  and  were  counting  up  frightful  losses  on  the 
Somme,  they  did  not  expect  this  last  disaster  to  them. 

Yesterday  I  saw  their  prisoners  coming  off  the  battlefields 
in  droves,  and  to-day  hundreds  of  them  in  the  barbed-wire 
cages  behind  the  lines.  They  were  dazed  men,  filled  with 
gloom,  and  tortured  by  a  great  bewilderment. 

"It  is  your  victory,"  said  one  of  their  officers,  speaking 
to  me  in  French.  "It  is  our  defeat.  I  cannot  under- 
stand." 

"Germany  is  kaput/'  said  one  of  their  non-commissioned 
officers.  He  meant  that  Germany  is  down — "in  the  soup," 
as  our  soldiers  would  say.  It  was  an  exaggeration,  for 
Germany  has  still  a  lot  of  fight  left  in  her,  but  it  was  the 
belief  of  her  beaten  soldiers  yesterday. 

Our  men  were  exalted — excited  by  the  smell  of  victory, 
exaggerating  also  our  own  gains  gloriously  in  the  belief  that 
the  "last  great  smash  had  been  made,  and  that  the  end  of 
this  foul  and  filthy  war  is  at  hand."  They  "went  over"  at 
dawn  yesterday  filled  with  the  spirit  of  victory,  and  it  was 
half  the  battle  won. 


^86  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


Many  of  them  went  over,  too,  in  the  greatest  good- 
humour,  laughing  as  they  ran.  Like  children  whose  fancy 
has  been  inflamed  by  some  new  toy,  they  were  enormously 
cheered  by  a  new  weapon  which  was  to  be  tried  with  them 
for  the  first  time — "the  heavily  armoured  car"  mentioned 
already  in  the  official  bulletin. 

That  description  is  a  dull  one  compared  with  all  the  rich 
and  rare  qualities  which  belong  to  these  extraordinary  ve- 
hicles. The  secret  of  them  was  kept  for  months  jealously 
and  nobly.  It  was  only  a  few  days  ago  that  it  was  whis- 
pered to  me. 

"Like  prehistoric  monsters.  You  know,  the  old  Ichthyo- 
saurus," said  the  officer. 

I  told  him  he  was  pulling  my  leg. 

"But  it's  a  fact,  man !" 

He  breathed  hard,  and  laughed  in  a  queer  way  at  some 
enormous  comicality. 

"They  eat  up  houses  and  put  the  refuse  under  their 
bellies.     Walk  right  over  'em !" 

I  knew  this  man  was  a  truthful  and  simple  soul,  and  yet 
could  not  believe. 

"They  knock  down  trees  like  matchsticks,"  he  said,  star- 
ing at  me  with  shining  eyes.  "They  go  clean  through  a 
wood !" 

"And  anything  else?"  I  asked,  enjoying  what  I  thought 
was  a  new  sense  of  humour. 

"Everything  else,"  he  said  earnestly.  "They  take  ditches 
like  kangaroos.  They  simply  love  shell-craters !  Laugh  at 
'em!" 

It  appeared,  also,  that  they  were  proof  against  rifle  bul- 
lets, machine-gun  bullets,  bombs,  shell-splinters.  Just 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  passed  on.  Nothing  but  a 
direct  hit  from  a  fair-sized  shell  could  do  them  any  harm. 

"But  what's  the  name  of  these  mythical  monsters?"  I 
asked,  not  believing  a  word  of  it. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  28Y 

He  said  "Hush!" 

Other  people  said  "Hush !  .  .  .  Hush !"  when  the  subject 
was  alluded  to  in  a  remote  way.  And  since  then  I  have 
heard  that  one  name  for  them  is  the  "Hush-hush."  But 
their  real  name  is  Tanks. 

For  they  are  real,  and  I  have  seen  them,  and  walked 
round  them,  and  got  inside  their  bodies,  and  looked  at  their 
mysterious  organs,  and  watched  their  monstrous  move- 
ments. 


I  came  across  a  herd  of  them  in  a  field,  and,  like  the 
countryman  who  first  saw  a  giraffe,  said  "Hell !  .  .  .  I  don't 
believe  it."  Then  I  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  laughed 
until  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes.  ( In  war  one  has  a  funny 
sense  of  humour.)  For  they  were  monstrously  comical, 
like  toads  of  vast  size  emerging  from  the  primeval  slime 
in  the  twilight  of  the  world's  dawn. 

The  skipper  of  one  of  them  introduced  me  to  them. 

"I  felt  awfully  bucked,"  said  the  young  officer  (who  is 
about  five  feet  high),  "when  my  beauty  ate  up  her  first 
house.  But  I  was  sorry  for  the  house,  which  was  quite  a 
good  one." 

"And  how  about  trees  ?"  I  asked. 

"They  simply  love  trees,"  he  answered. 

When  our  soldiers  first  saw  these  strange  creatures  lollop- 
ing along  the  roads  and  over  old  battlefields,  taking  trenches 
on  the  way,  they  shouted  and  cheered  wildly,  and  laughed 
for  a  day  afterwards.  And  yesterday  the  troops  got  out  of 
their  trenches  laughing  and  shouting  and  cheering  again 
because  the  Tanks  had  gone  on  ahead,  and  were  scaring  the 
Germans  dreadfully,  while  they  moved  over  the  enemy's 
trenches  and  poured  out  fire  on  every  side.  As  I  shall 
write  later,  these  motor  monsters  had  strange  adventures 
and  did  very  good  work,  justifying  their  amazing  existence. 


288  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


4 

For  several  days  before  the  great  blow  was  to  be  made, 
and  while  there  was  heavy  fighting  in  progress  at  most 
parts  of  the  line — the  capture  of  Guillemont  by  English  and 
Irish  troops,  the  splendid  rush  of  the  Irish  through  Ginchy 
— there  was  a  steady  forward  movement  and  concentration 
of  all  the  men  and  machinery  to  strike  at  the  Flers  line. 

Villages  beyond  the  zone  of  fire  where  battalions  had  been 
resting  and  where  there  was  the  busy  life  of  soldiers  in 
their  billeting  areas  suddenly  became  emptied  of  all  this 
human  interest. 

The  men  had  passed  on — higher  up  the  roads,  and  higher 
up  where  there  was  a  struggling  tide  of  all  the  traffic  of  war, 
with  supply  columns,  mule-trains,  guns,  limber,  ambulances, 
and  troops  from  all  parts  of  the  Empire,  surging,  swirling, 
struggling  slowly  forward  through  narrow  village  streets, 
up  long  winding  roads,  across  trampled  and  barren  fields, 
through  the  ruins  of  villages  destroyed  a  year  or  more  ago, 
and  out  into  the  country  of  evil  menace  which  is  criss- 
crossed by  old  trenches  and  pitted  with  old  shell-craters  and 
strewn  with  the  refuse  of  battles  two  months  back  in 
history. 

Here  a  great  army  with  all  its  material  of  war — incredibly 
vast  and  crowded — lay  waiting  for  the  hour  when  it  should 
be  hurled  to  the  great  hammer-stroke. 

They  were  masses  of  men  who  were  there  the  night  before 
the  battle  hidden  in  the  darkness  of  the  earth,  not  revealed 
even  by  the  white  moonlight  except  in  huddled  crowds  and 
camps,  but  as  I  passed  them  again  a  few  hours  before  the 
dawn  I  thought  of  the  individual  and  not  of  the  mass,  all 
the  separate  hopes  and  pulse-beats  of  these  men  who  were 
going  to  do  a  big  thing  if  luck  should  favour  us. 

And  out  of  the  darkness  I  thought  I  heard  the  sound  of 
laughter  rising  at  the  thought  of  the  monstrous  "hush-hush." 
Before  the  dawn  the  moon  was  high  and  clear  in  a  sky 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  289 

that  had  hardly  any  clouds.  It  shone  down  upon  the  fields 
and  roads  so  that  the  plaster  walls  of  French  cottages  were 
very  white  under  the  black  roofs,  and  rows  of  tents  were 
like  little  hillocl  s  of  snow  in  the  harvest-fields. 

As  I  looked  up  a  shooting  star  flashed  across  the  sky,  and 
I  thought  of  the  old  legend  of  a  passing  life,  and  wondered 
why  to-night  all  the  stars  were  not  falling. 

Presently  dawn  came,  and  some  low-lying  clouds  were 
touched  with  a  warm  glow  which  deepened  and  spread  until 
they  were  all  crimson.     It  was  a  red  dawn. 

"The  promise  of  victory  like  the  sun  of  Austerlitz,"  said 
an  officer. 

Before  six  o'clock,  summer-time,  all  our  guns  were  firing 
steadily,  and  all  the  sky,  very  pale  and  shimmering  in  the 
first  twilight  of  the  day,  was  filled  with  the  flashes  of  guns 
and  shell-bursts.    Heavy  howitzers  were  eating  up  shells. 


I  went  to  the  right  of  the  line,  hoping  to  see  the  infantry 
attack  to  the  left  of  Leuze  Wood,  as  I  had  watched  the 
battle  here  a  week  or  two  ago,  and  here  one  of  the  motor 
monsters  was  coming  across  the  ground.  But  as  the  sun 
rose  higher  it  drew  the  moisture  out  of  all  these  shell-craters 
and  trenches,  and  a  dense  white  mist  blotted  out  the  ridge 
for  an  hour  or  more.  French  troops  who  join  our  line  here 
came  across  country.  British  soldiers  were  moving  forward 
on  the  left,  silently,  with  the  mist  about  them. 

Overhead  shells  went  rushing — heavy  shells  that  travelled 
with  the  noise  of  trains.  Forward  batteries  were  firing  raj>- 
idly  and  increasingly,  and  then  sharp  staccato  knocking  was 
clear  above  the  heavy  crashes  of  giant  crumps,  compared 
by  a  whimsical  mind  in  this  war  with  "an  immortal  plumber 
laying  down  his  tools." 

Machine-gun  fire  rapped  out  in  fierce  spasms,  and  the 
German  "Archies"  were  throwing  up  shells  which  burst 


290  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

all  about  the  planes  of  our  airmen,  who  came  like  a  flock  of 
birds  over  the  battlefields,  flying  low  above  the  mists. 

They  did  wonderful  things  yesterday,  those  British  air- 
pilots,  risking  their  lives  audaciously  in  single  combats  with 
hostile  airmen,  in  encounters  against  great  odds,  in  bombing 
enemy  headquarters  and  railway  stations  and  kite  balloons, 
and  troops,  and  registering  or  observing  all  day  long  for  our 
artillery.  They  were  out  to  destroy  the  enemy's  last  means, 
of  observation,  and  they  began  the  success  of  the  battle  by 
gaining  the  absolute  mastery  of  the  air. 

Thirteen  German  aeroplanes  (since  reported  by  Sir 
Douglas  Haig  to  be  fifteen)  were  brought  down,  and  their 
flying  men  dared  not  come  across  our  lines  to  risk  more 
losses. 

On  our  side  it  was  fighting  *'all  in."  There  was  nothing 
of  a  killing  character  within  our  reach  and  knowledge  which 
we  did  not  use,  and  we  turned  the  enemy's  own  worst 
weapons  against  himself. 

Every  material  of  war  made  by  the  home  workers  in  our 
factories  by  months  of  toil  was  called  in. 

The  men  went  in  with  the  resolve  to  break  through  the 
enemy's  third  line  without  counting  the  cost,  to  smash  down 
any  opposition  they  might  meet,  and  to  go  forward  and 
far  until  they  could  get  the  enemy  on  the  run. 

A  body  of  Scots  went  up  to  the  battle-lines  to  the  tune  of 
"Stop  your  tickling,  Jock,"  but  there  was  a  grim  meaning 
in  the  music,  and  it  was  no  love-song. 

English  soldiers  had  been  practising  bayonet  exercise 
harder  than  usual,  and  with  a  personal  interest  beyond  the 
discipline.  "It's  time  to  finish  old  Fritz,"  was  the  shout  of 
one  soldier  to  another.  "We  want  to  go  home  for  Christ- 
mas!" 

The  men  fought  yesterday  fiercely  and  ruthlessly.  They 
want  to  get  on  to  the  heels  of  the  enemy,  and  there  were 
moments  yesterday  when  they  saw  many  pairs  of  heels. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  291 


The  area  of  our  attack  extended  on  the  left  from  the 
ground  north  of  Pozieres  to  the  line  recently  won  to  the 
north  of  Ginchy  on  the  right,  and  its  purpose  was,  as  I 
have  said,  to  break  through  the  third  German  line  below 
Courcelette,  Martinpuich,  and  Lesboeuf,  a  distance  of  about 
six  miles.  Time  of  attack  was  shortly  after  six  o'clock 
yesterday  morning,  and  along  all  the  line  the  troops  were 
awaiting  the  moment  to  rise,  after  our  artillery  had  com- 
pleted its  first  barrage. 

On  the  left  in  front  of  Courcelette  there  was  hard  and 
unexpected  fighting.  As  we  now  know  the  enemy  had  pre- 
pared an  attack  against  us,  and  had  massed  troops  in  con- 
siderable force  in  his  front  and  reserve  lines.  He  sent  out 
advanced  patrols  and  bombing  parties,  while  our  men  were 
waiting  to  go  over,  and  immediately  there  was  a  fierce 
encounter. 

One  young  brown-eyed  fellow  told  me  his  own  experi- 
ence, and  it  was  like  many  others. 

"The  sergeant  in  my  bay,"  he  said,  "suddenly  called  out 
that  he  had  seen  a  signal  light  go  up  from  another  point  of 
the  trenches  giving  a  warning  of  attack.  *We  shall  have 
the  whole  lot  on  us,'  he  shouted.  'Look  out  for  yourselves, 
lads.'  " 

The  enemy  came  over  in  a  rush.  Many  fell  before  the 
rifle  fire  of  our  men,  but  others  managed  to  jump  into  por- 
tions of  trench,  and  bombed  their  way  up  several  of  the 
bays. 

Machine-guns  were  turned  on  to  them,  and  there  were  not 
many  left  alive.  But  before  the  fight  had  ended  a  new  one 
began,  for  our  jumping-ofif  time  had  come,  and  the  assault- 
ing troops  rose  as  one  man,  and  taking  no  notice  of  what 
had  happened  swept  across  their  own  trenches  and  the  Ger- 
mans who  were  in  them,  and  went  straight  across  country 
towards  Courcelette. 


THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

They  came  up  immediately  against  difficult  ground  and 
fierce  machine-gun  fire.  South-east  of  Courcelette,  beyond 
the  shell-craters  and  bits  of  broken  trench  which  the  men 
had  carried  easily  enough,  sweeping  the  Germans  down 
before  them,  stood  the  ruins  of  a  sugar  factory,  which  the 
enemy  had  made  into  a  redoubt,  with  machine-gun  em- 
placements. 

It  was  one  of  those  deadly  places  which  have  cost  so  many 
lives  among  our  men  in  other  parts  of  the  battle  ground 
now  In  our  hands. 


But  we  had  a  new  engine  of  war  to  destroy  the  place. 
Over  our  own  trenches  in  the  twilight  of  the  dawn  one  of 
those  motor-monsters  had  lurched  up,  and  now  it  came 
crawling  forward  to  the  rescue,  cheered  by  the  assaulting 
troops,  who  called  out  words  of  encouragement  to  it  and 
laughed,  so  that,  some  men  were  laughing  even  when  bullets 
caught  them  in  the  throat. 

"Creme  de  Menthe"  was  the  name  of  this  particular  crea- 
ture, and  It  waddled  forward  right  over  the  old  German 
trenches,  and  went  forward  very  steadily  towards  the  sugar 
factory. 

There  was  a  second  of  silence  from  the  enemy  there. 
Then,  suddenly,  their  machine-gun  fire  burst  out  in  nervous 
spasms  and  splashed  the  sides  of  "Creme  de  Menthe." 

But  the  Tank  did  not  mind.  The  bullets  fell  from  its 
sides,  harmlessly.  It  advanced  upon  a  broken  wall,  leaned 
up  against  It  heavily  until  it  fell  with  a  crash  of  bricks,  and 
then  rose  on  to  the  bricks  and  passed  over  them,  and  walked 
straight  into  the  midst  of  the  factory  ruins. 

From  its  sides  came  flashes  of  fire  and  a  hose  of  bullets, 
and  then  It  trampled  around  over  machine  emplacements, 
''having  a  grand  time,"  as  one  of  the  men  said  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

It  crushed  the  machine-guns  under  its  heavy  ribs,  and 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  293 

killed  machine-gun  teams  with  a  deadly  fire.  The  infantry 
followed  in  and  took  the  place  after  this  good  help,  and 
then  advanced  again  round  the  flanks  of  the  monster. 

In  spite  of  the  Tank,  which  did  such  grand  work,  the 
assault  on  Courcelette  was  hard  and  costly.  Again  and 
again  the  men  came  under  machine-gun  fire  and  rifle  fire,  for 
the  Germans  had  dug  new  trenches,  called  the  Fabeckgraben 
and  Zollerngraben,  which  had  not  been  wiped  out  by  our 
artillery,  and  they  fought  with  great  courage  and  des- 
peration. 

Seventy  men  who  advanced  first  on  a  part  of  these  lines 
were  swept  down.  Seventy  others  who  went  forward  to  fill 
their  places  fell  also  to  a  man.  But  their  comrades  were  not 
disheartened,  and  at  last  carried  the  position  in  a  great  wave 
of  assault. 

Then  they  went  on  to  the  village.  It  was  like  all  these 
villages  in  German  hands,  tunnelled  with  a  nest  of  dug-outs, 
and  a  stronghold  hard  to  take.  The  British  troops  entered 
it  from  the  eastern  side,  fought  yard  by  yard,  stubbornly 
resolved  to  have  it. 

The  Tank  came  along  and  ploughed  about,  searching  for 
German  machine-guns,  thrusting  over  bits  of  wall,  nosing 
here  and  there,  and  sitting  on  heaps  of  ruin  while  it  fired 
down  the  streets.  By  6.30  last  evening  the  village  was 
taken. 

The  British  took  400  prisoners,  and  when  they  were 
brought  down  to  Pozieres  last  night  they  passed  old  Creme 
de  Menthe,  who  was  going  home,  and  held  up  their  hands 
crying  "Gott  in  Himmel !"  and  asked  how  they  could  fight 
against  such  monstrous  things. 

The  taking  of  Courcelette  was  a  great  achievement  skil- 
fully planned  and  carried  out  with  stern  and  high  courage 
by  splendid  men,  and  one  monster. 


»94  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


On  the  right  of  these  troops  there  was  a  great  assault 
upon  Martinpuich  and  High  Wood.  Here,  also,  in  High 
Wood,  the  Germans  had  been  ready  for  an  attack,  and, 
being  forestalled  in  that,  they  made  a  strong  counter-attack 
which  for  a  time  had  some  success,  driving  our  men  back 
to  the  southern  edge  of  the  wood. 

Our  troops  had  been  heavily  shelled  beforehand,  and 
they  found  the  enemy  in  much  stronger  force  than  they 
had  expected  in  that  wood  of  bitter  memory.  But  these 
men  of  ours — I  have  met  many  of  them  before  a  year  ago — 
fought  very  gamely. 

Some  among  them  were  utterly  without  experience  of 
the  Somme  kind  of  fighting  and  wilted  a  little  before  its 
ferocity  of  fire,  but  the  older  men,  the  "veterans"  of  a 
year's  service  or  more,  cheered  them  up,  kept  them  steady, 
and  led  them  on. 

They  counter-attacked  the  counter-attack  and  regained 
their  old  line,  and  then  to  their  great  joy  saw  the  Tanks 
advancing  through  High  Wood  and  on  each  side  of  it. 

"It  was  like  a  fairy  tale !"  said  a  Cockney  boy.  "I  can't 
help  laughing  every  time  I  think  of  it." 

He  laughed  then,  though  he  had  a  broken  arm  and  was 
covered  in  blood. 

"They  broke  down  trees  as  if  they  were  matchsticks,  and 
went  over  barricades  like  elephants.  The  Boches  were  thor- 
oughly scared.  They  came  running  out  of  shell-holes  and 
trenches,  shouting  like  mad  things. 

"Some  of  them  attacked  the  Tanks  and  tried  to  bomb 
them,  but  it  wasn't  a  bit  of  good.  O  Crikey,  it  was  a  rare 
treat  to  see!  The  biggest  joke  that  ever  was!  They  just 
stamped  down  the  German  dug-out  as  one  might  a  whops 
nest." 

On  the  left  of  High  Wood  was  a  very  fine  body  of  troops 
who  had  no  trenches  to  lie  in  but  just  lay  out  in  shell- 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  295 

craters  under  a  constant  fire  of  "whizz-bangs,"  that  is  to 
say,  field-guns  firing  at  short  range,  which  was  extremely 
hard  to  endure. 

"It  was  cruel,"  said  one  of  these  men,  "but  we  went  for- 
ward all  right  when  the  time  came  over  the  bodies  of  com- 
rades who  were  lying  in  pools  of  blood,  and  afterwards  the 
enemy  had  to  pay." 


They  were  co-operating  with  some  troops  on  their  left, 
who  went  straight  for  Martinpuich,  that  village  into  which 
I  stared  a  week  or  two  ago  after  a  long  walk  to  our  front 
line  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge  beyond  Bazentin,  looking  at  the 
Promised  Land. 

These  men  were  superb  and  went  across  No  Man's  Land 
for  nearly  looo  yards  in  six  minutes,  racing.  They  made 
short  work  with  the  Germans  who  tried  to  snipe  them 
from  the  shell-craters,  and  only  came  to  a  check  on  the 
outskirts  of  Martinpuich,  where  they  were  received  with  a 
blast  of  machine-gun  fire. 

It  was  then  the  turn  of  the  Tanks. 

Before  the  dawn  two  of  them  had  come  up  out  of  the 
darkness  and  lumbered  over  our  front  line  trenches  looking 
towards  the  enemy  as  though  hungry  for  breakfast.  After- 
wards they  came  across  No  Man's  Land  like  enormous  toads 
with  pains  in  their  stomachs,  and  nosed  at  Martinpuich  be- 
fore testing  the  strength  of  its  broken  barns  and  bricks. 

The  men  cheered  them  wildly,  waving  their  helmets  and 
dancing  round  them.  One  company  needed  cheering  up,  for 
they  had  lost  two  of  their  officers  the  night  before  in  a 
patrol  adventure,  and  it  was  the  sergeants  who  led  them 
over. 

Twenty  minutes  afterwards  the  first  waves  were  inside 
the  first  trench  of  Martinpuich  and  in  advance  of  them 
waddled  a  monster. 

The  men  were  held  up  for  some  time  by  the  same  ma- 


296  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

chine-gun  fire  which  has  killed  so  many  of  our  men,  but  the 
monsters  went  on  alone,  and  had  astounding  adventures. 

They  went  straight  through  the  shells  of  broken  barns  and 
houses,  straddled  on  top  of  German  dug-outs,  and  fired 
enfilading  shots  down  German  trenches. 

From  one  dug-out  came  a  German  colonel  with  a  white, 
frightened  face,  who  held  his  hands  very  high  in  front  of 
the  Tank,  shouting,  "Kamerad !     Kamerad !" 

"Well,  come  inside  then,"  said  a  voice  in  the  body  of  the 
beast,  and  a  human  hand  came  forth  from  a  hole  opening 
suddenly  and  grabbed  the  German  officer. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  the  Tank  led  that  unfortunate  man 
about  on  the  strangest  journey  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

Another  Tank  was  confronted  with  one  hundred  Ger- 
mans, who  shouted  "Mercy!  Mercy!"  and  at  the  head  of 
this  procession  led  them  back  as  prisoners  to  our  lines.  Yet 
another  Tank  went  off  to  the  right  of  Martinpuich,  and  was 
so  fresh  and  high-spirited  that  it  went  far  into  the  enemy's 
lines,  as  though  on  the  way  to  Berlin. 

The  men  were  not  so  fortunate  as  the  monsters,  not  being 
proof  against  machine-gun  bullets.  The  enemy  concen- 
trated a  very  heavy  fire  upon  them,  and  many  fell.  One 
boy — a  fine,  stout-hearted  lad  who  had  a  keen  and  spirited 
look  in  spite  of  dreadful  experience — told  me  a  tale  that 
Edgar  Allan  Poe  might  have  written  if  he  had  lived  to  see 
things  worse  than  anything  in  his  morbid  imaginings — one 
of  our  common  tales. 

A  German  crump  killed  a  lance-corporal  by  his  side  and 
buried  them  both  completely. 

"It  was  just  my  steel  hat  that  kept  the  earth  from  my 
face,"  said  the  boy,  "and  gave  me  a  little  handful  of  air  to 
breathe.  It  was  in  a  wee  trench  we  had  dug  to  get  some 
cover.     But  now  I  was  covered  too  much. 

"It  seemed  like  an  hour  I  was  there,  but  perhaps  no  more 
than  half  that  time.  I  tried  to  shout,  but  could  not.  A 
man  walked  over  my  head,  but  did  not  know  I  was  there. 

"Presently  they  saw  the  lance-corporal's  leg  sticking  out, 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  29T 

and  started  to  pull  him.  I  got  my  hand  out,  and  waggled 
it,  and  they  started  digging  for  me.  It  was  just  time.  The 
veins  were  starting  out  of  my  head,  and  I  was  nearly  gone." 
It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  the  whole  of  ]\Iartinpuich 
was  taken  after  fierce  fighting,  and  it  was  the  crowning 
triumph  of  a  successful  day. 

lO 

The  troops  on  the  left  side  of  the  line  did  amazingly  well, 
and  were  handled  well.  They  took  forty  German  officers 
and  1430  other  ranks.  Against  them  was  the  2nd  Bavarian 
Corps,  whom  many  of  our  men  had  met  before  at  Kemmel 
and  the  Hohenzollern  and  Ypres,  glad  now  to  pay  off  old 
scores  against  them. 

On  the  right  of  the  troops  at  Martinpuich  the  attack  was 
swinging  up  to  Flers  across  a  wide  stretch  of  difficult  and 
perilous  ground  strongly  defended. 

The  enemy  was  flinging  over  storms  of  shrapnel  and 
high  explosives,  and  many  of  our  men  fell,  but  the  wounded 
shouted  on  the  others,  if  they  were  not  too  badly  hit,  and 
the  others  went  forward  grimly  and  steadily. 

These  soldiers  of  ours  were  superb  in  courage  and  stoic 
endurance,  and  pressed  forward  steadily  in  broken  waves. 
The  first  news  of  success  came  through  from  an  airman's 
wireless,  which  said : 

"A  Tank  is  walking  up  the  High  Street  of  Flers  with  the 
British  Army  cheering  behind." 

It  was  an  actual  fact.  One  of  the  motor-monsters  was 
there,  enjoying  itself  thoroughly,  and  keeping  down  the 
heads  of  the  enemy. 

It  hung  out  a  big  piece  of  paper,  on  which  were  the 
words : 

"GREAT  HUN  DEFEAT.    SPECIAL!" 

The  aeroplane  flew  low  over  its  carcase,  machine-gunning 
the  scared  Germans,  who  fled  before  the  monstrous  appari- 


298  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

tion.  Later  in  the  day  it  seemed  to  have  been  in  need  of  a 
rest  before  coming  home,  and  two  humans  got  out  of  its 
inside  and  walked  back  to  our  lines. 

But,  by  that  time,  Flers  and  many  prisoners  were  in  our 
hands,  and  our  troops  had  gone  beyond  to  further  fields. 


II 

On  the  extreme  right  of  our  line  of  attack  the  fighting 
was  hardest  and  fiercest  of  all,  and  is  still  very  confused  and 
uncertain  to  the  north  of  Ginchy  and  in  the  direction  of 
Guedecourt.  In  this  direction  the  enemy  fought  with  fine 
courage.  Machine-gun  fire  swept  our  men  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Morval  and  Combles,  and  the  shell-fire  was  frightful 
in  its  violence. 

Nevertheless,  the  first  rush  forward  was  magnificent  on 
the  part  of  the  troops.     They  were  the  Guards. 

"Lots  of  our  men  dropped,"  said  one  of  them,  "but  we 
didn't  look  round  or  bother  about  anything  or  see  anything 
of  what  was  going  on  around  us.  We  had  orders  to  push 
on,  and  we  pushed." 

The  enemy  resisted  stoutly  along  his  first  line.  They 
kept  up  a  severe  rifle  fire  and  machine-gun  fire  until  our 
men  were  right  on  them,  and  then  fought  bayonet  to 
bayonet. 

Large  numbers  of  them  were  killed,  and  the  troops  swept 
through  to  the  second  line  of  trenches  and  took  that. 

A  third  wave  passed  through  them  to  the  third  German 
trench,  but  before  they  reached  this  goal  the  German  sol- 
diers came  out  with  their  hands  up  and  surrendered.  Our 
men  went  on  and  on. 

"The  Boches  ran  like  rabbits  before  us,"  said  several  of 
them.  They  went  too  far,  these  soldiers,  in  their  eagerness. 
One  of  the  colonels  stood  up  on  a  hillock  blowing  a  hunting 
horn  to  fetch  them  back,  but  they  did  not  hear,  and  went  on 
still  further,  unsupported  by  troops  on  their  right. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  TANKS  299 

The  officers  waved  on  the  men  with  their  revolvers,  and 
many  fell  leading  their  companies.  It  was  one  of  the  great- 
est charges  in  history,  but  drove  out  too  far  into  the  "blue" 
without  sufficient  co-operation,  with  troops  held  up  lower 
down  by  strong  points  and  machine-guns.  What  the  situa- 
tion is  there  to-night  I  do  not  yet  know,  except  that  our  men 
were  fighting  on  the  outskirts  of  Guedecourt. 


12 

I  have  no  time  to  tell  of  all  the  great  drama  I  have  seen — 
the  long  trails  of  the  walking  wounded,  marvellously  brave, 
wonderfully  full  of  spirits,  the  long  columns  of  German 
prisoners  tramping  back  from  the  battlefields,  dejected  and 
miserable,  and  other  great  pictures  of  war  not  yet  to  be 
written. 

The  German  prisoners  were  utterly  dismayed — bewil- 
dered beyond  words.  Some  of  the  officers  tried  to  shrug  it 
off  as  "a  stroke  of  luck,"  but  others  admitted  that  we  had 
surprised  them  by  a  great  and  brilliant  stroke. 

One  of  them  with  whom  I  spoke  was  a  young  artillery 
officer  who  had  fought  against  us  at  Ypres  in  19 14,  and 
afterwards  against  the  Russians. 

"The  Somme  is  the  worst  of  all  for  us,"  he  said.  "It  is 
fearful." 

Several  German  officers  were  appalling  figures,  in  masks 
of  horror,  their  faces  as  black  as  negroes.  They  had  been 
in  a  dug-out  blown  up  by  one  of  our  bombs,  and  it  was  full 
of  Very  lights,  which  flamed  about  them,  and  burnt  them 
black. 

It  was  a  black  day  for  Germany,  and  the  hardest  blow 
that  has  been  struck  at  her  heart  and  pride  by  British  troops. 
For  us  the  glory  of  the  day  is  in  the  splendour  of  our  men. 


XXX 

FIGHTING  BEYOND  FLERS 


I 

September  17 
The  enemy  has  made  desperate  attempts  to  organise  coun- 
ter-attacks to  thrust  back  our  lines  from  the  ground  gained 
by  us  since  Friday  morning.  They  have  failed.  We  hold 
all  the  ground  captured  in  the  general  assault,  and  yesterday 
and  to-day  our  troops  have  gone  further  forward  winning 
new  and  important  positions. 

Mouquet  Farm,  for  which  the  Australians  fought  with  a 
most  stubborn  courage,  entering  the  place  several  times  with 
their  patrols,  was  taken  last  night  by  a  swift  and  successful 
assault.  Left  of  that,  below  Thiepval,  and  to  the  east  of 
that  stronghold,  attacks  beginning  last  Thursday  on  a  forti- 
fied position  known  as  the  "Wunderwerk"  (a  curious  and 
villainous  system  of  trenches  and  dug-outs)  have  been  a 
brilliant  success,  and  have  extended  our  gain  by  a  mile  of 
frontage  along  the  Danube  trench. 

We  have  a  strong  flank  line  securing  Courcelette  and  have 
pushed  out  beyond  Martinpuich  towards  Eaucourt  I'Abbaye, 
and  beyond  Flers  towards  Guedecourt.  The  day  has  not 
been  so  sensational  as  Friday,  but  solid  progress  has  been 
made,  and  the  enemy  is  kept  nervous. 

He  has  been  hurrying  up  reserves  from  Le  Sars  and 
Miraumont  and  places  far  back  behind  his  lines.  They  were 
reported  to  be  moving  up  yesterday  by  motor  transport, 
and  our  long-range  guns  "dealt  with  them,"  to  use  the  grim 
phrase  of  one  of  our  artillery  officers. 

The  enemy's  losses  are  certainly  very  frightful.    His  dead 

300 


FIGHTING  BEYOND  FLERS  301 

lie  solid  in  certain  parts  of  the  battle  front.  There  are  fields 
of  horror  here  round  High  Wood  and  above  Delville  Wood, 
and  not  all  the  shells  which  I  saw  slashing  those  rows  of 
tree  stumps  to-day  will  give  the  enemy  back  those  men  who 
are  being  buried  by  his  high  explosives. 

The  whole  of  the  great  stretch  of  battlefield  along  the 
high  ridge  to  Delville  Wood  and  Ginchy  is  one  great  grave- 
yard, and  looking  across  it  to-day,  as  I  stood  among  shell- 
craters  and  old  German  trenches  and  the  litter  of  a  wide 
destruction,  this  great  desolate  horror  was  an  evil  panorama 
which  chilled  one's  spirit. 

The  enemy  was  flinging  over  heavy  crumps  and  black 
shrapnel,  but  his  shooting  seemed  to  me  wild  and  without 
definite  targets.  The  reason  of  it  was  clear.  In  taking  the 
high  ridge  we  have  the  observation  which  was  once  his, 
and  it  is  our  artillery  which  now  has  the  supreme  advantage. 


The  bombardment  of  September  15  was  the  most  remark- 
able achievement  ever  done  by  British  artillery,  and  not 
surpassed  I  should  say  in  any  army.  Every  detail  of  it  was 
planned  beforehand. 

Every  "heavy"  had  its  special  objective  and  its  own  time- 
table working  exactly  with  the  infantry,  concentrating  upon 
the  enemy's  trenches  and  strong  points,  barraging  his  lines 
of  communication,  following  the  tracks  of  those  motor 
monsters  whose  amazing  adventures  I  described  in  my  last 
despatch,  and  co-operating  with  the  air  service  to  reach  out 
to  distant  targets. 

The  field  batteries  were  marvellously  audacious  in  taking 
up  new  positions,  and  the  F.O.O.'s  (the  forward  observing 
officers)  were  gallant  in  getting  up  to  the  high  ground  as 
soon  as  our  infantry  had  taken  it  and  registering  their 
batteries  from  these  new  view-points. 

I  heard  to-day  the  whole  artillery  scheme  of  one  corps 


302  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

and  the  scientific  precision  with  which  the  enemy's  defences 
were  destroyed  made  me  shiver  as  in  the  presence  of  a  high 
intelligence  distributing  death  on  a  great  scale,  by  means 
of  minute  calculations  of  time  and  space,  which,  indeed,  is 
exactly  the  truth. 

Tlie  enemy's  artillery  is  still  very  strong,  and  it  would 
be  nonsense  to  depreciate  his  prodigious  gun-power.  But 
some  at  least  of  his  batteries  are  in  a  perilous  position  now 
that  we  are  able  to  observe  them,  and  from  my  own  obser- 
vation of  his  shell-fire  to-day  it  seems  to  me  that  he  is 
shifting  them  further  back. 

He  had  not  shifted  them  when  our  attack  began  on  Friday 
morning  last  (although  our  counter-battery  work  was  mak- 
ing it  extremely  hot  for  him),  and  it  is  remarkable  that 
within  two  minutes  of  our  attack  he  concentrated  a  par- 
ticularly fierce  fire  on  High  Wood,  where  our  men  were 
advancing. 

It  is  possible  that  his  "sausage"  balloons  had  observed 
the  approach  of  the  Tanks,  and  had  seen  them  behind  our 
trenches,  like  ichthyosauri  waiting  for  their  morning  meal. 
But  as  I  have  previously  hinted,  there  is  sound  evidence  for 
the  belief  that  he  had  prepared  a  great  counter-attack  along 
a  wide  front  at  the  very  time  when  our  own  was  launched. 

This  accounts  for  the  great  mass  of  men  killed  in  his  lines 
and  for  the  large  number  of  prisoners  who  fell  into  our 
hands. 


The  capture  of  Mouquet  Farm  last  night  was  made  by  a 
dash  across  a  short  strip  of  No  Man's  Land.  The  garrison 
there  retreated  into  a  tunnelled  dug-out,  which  had  at  least 
two  entrances,  and  showed  no  willingness  to  surrender, 
maintaining  rifle  fire  from  loop-holes  after  they  were  sur- 
rounded. 

The  southern  entrance  to  this  underground  stronghold 
was  blown  in  by  high  explosives,  while  men  kept  guard  of 


FIGHTING  BEYOND  FLERS  303 

the  other  entry,  waiting  for  any  Germans  who  might  come 
up  to  surrender. 

This  capture  of  Mouquet  Farm  (a  stick  or  two  above  a 
heap  of  broken  brickwork,  as  I  saw  it  some  weeks  ago)  has 
made  the  position  of  Thiepval  still  more  closely  gripped — 
the  garrison  there  holds  out  stubbornly  in  its  tunnelled  cor- 
ridors— and  helped  forward  the  assault  upon  the  Danube 
Trench  launched  with  absolute  success. 

This  carried  further  the  operation  begun  last  Thursday, 
when  our  troops  made  one  of  those  brilliant  assaults  upon 
the  intricate  system  of  earthworks  to  the  south  of  Thiepval, 
which  I  watched  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  the  Wiltshires  and 
the  Gloucesters  did  so  well. 

On  the  left,  running  southwards  down  the  ridge,  is  an 
extraordinary  V-shaped  wedge  with  an  open  end.  This 
position  was  not  attacked,  but  our  men  drove  straight  up  to 
the  left  of  it,  upon  the  "Wonder-work,"  which  was  one  of 
those  nests  of  dug-outs  upon  which  the  Germans  lavished 
all  their  skill  in  digging  and  pummelling  and  strengthening 
and  furnishing  in  what  soldiers  call  "the  days  of  peace" — 
the  old  days  of  ordinary  trench-warfare. 

It  was  no  longer  a  "Wonder-work"  when  our  men  rushed 
upon  it.  A  whirlwind  bombardment  which  had  preceded 
them,  and  heavy  shell-fire  for  weeks  past  had  broken  the 
concrete  emplacements  and  flung  up  the  earth  with  deep 
shell-pits,  so  that  it  was  merely  a  part  of  the  general  chaos 
existing  on  these  battlefields. 

Five  German  officers  and  ii6  men  were  still  alive  there, 
and  surrendered  instantly.  "You  were  on  us  like  the  wind," 
said  one  of  these  officers  afterwards.  "We  had  no  time 
to  defend  ourselves."  Other  men  fled  from  neighbouring 
shell-craters,  but  ran  straight  into  our  curtain  fire  and  fell. 

Our  lads  chased  some  of  them  as  they  ran,  but  halted  this 
side  of  our  bursting  shells,  and  came  back  "fearfully 
bucked,"  to  use  their  own  phrase,  because  they  had  put  the* 
enemy  to  flight  and  mastered  him  so  utterly. 


304  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


Yesterday  counter-attacks  were  attempted  by  the  5th  Re- 
serve Regiment  of  Guards,  but  they  were  not  carried 
through  with  resolution.  The  first  wave  of  men  came  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  towards  our  men,  then  hesitated,  flung 
their  bombs,  which  fell  ludicrously  short,  and  ran  back. 

On  the  left  they  were  bolder  and  brave,  and  a  very  long 
and  stubborn  fight  took  place  with  bombs,  ending  in  the 
complete  victory  of  our  men  after  they  had  flung  1,500 
hand-grenades. 

North-east  of  Flers  other  counter-attacks  were  attempted 
yesterday,  but  our  troops  who  were  advancing  towards 
Guedecourt  went  right  through  them  and  over  them  with 
irresistible  spirit,  checked  only  by  concealed  machine-guns  in 
a  harvest  field  on  their  wing. 

In  Bouleaux  Wood,  to  the  north  of  Leuze  Wood,  there 
has  been  fierce  hand-to-hand  fighting,  and  in  the  centre  of  it 
is  an  unfortunate  Tank — one  of  the  few  casualties  among 
the  armoured  monsters — which  lies  with  its  nose  in  the 
earth,  forming  a  barricade  between  the  opposing  bombers. 

The  general  situation  along  our  attacking  front  leaves 
the  initiative  in  our  hands  and  reveals  the  temporary  de- 
moralisation of  the  enemy's  troops  and  command. 

One  cannot  say  more  than  that.  The  enemy  has  had  a 
hard  blow,  but  he  has  reserves  of  strength  which  are  con- 
trolled by  cool  brains  behind  his  lines. 

There  is  still  much  fighting  to  be  done  before  Germany's 
weakness  reaches  the  breaking  point,  but  the  losses  we  have 
inflicted  upon  her  during  the  last  three  days  are  so  terrible 
that  she  cannot  hide  her  wounds. 


XXXI 

MONSTERS  AND  MEN 


I 

September  i8 
In  all  the  accounts  of  the  fighting  since  Friday  the  story  of 
the  Tanks — those  weird  and  wonderful  armoured  monsters 
— runs  like  a  humorous  thread.  Full  of  humour  and  fan- 
tasy, because  of  their  shape  and  qualities,  they  are  also 
filled  with  very  gallant  men,  to  whom  great  honour  is  due. 
The  skippers  and  crews  of  these  land-ships,  as  they  are 
called,  had  to  go  out  alone  in  many  cases  in  advance  of  the 
infantry  and  upon  hazardous  chances,  which  each  one  of 
them  knew  were  weighted  with  the  risk,  almost  the  certainty 
— for  it  was  a  new,  untried  experiment — of  death.  They 
had  astounding  adventures  and  a  large  measure  of  success, 
and  it  was  due  not  to  any  kind  of  luck,  but  to  great  skill 
and  great  courage. 

I  have  already  told  the  first  stories  of  their  actions.  To- 
day I  obtained  a  full  narrative  of  their  achievements,  and 
it  is  one  of  the  most  dramatic  and  gallant  records  in  the 
history  of  this  war. 

Two  of  them  who  set  out  to  attack  the  line  from  Combles 
to  Morval  made  a  rendezvous  at  Wedge  Wood,  and  took 
up  their  position  at  night.  One  of  them  set  ofif  and  ambled 
slowly  until  it  came  within  400  yards  north-west  of  Com- 
bles, far  in  advance  of  the  infantry.  Here  it  sat  for  five 
hours,  fighting  the  enemy  alone,  and  shooting  down  German 
bombing  parties,  until  it  was  severely  damaged. 

The  other  Tank  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bouleaux  Wood 
reached  the  enemy's  trenches  near  Morval,  and,  finding  that 

305 


306  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

it  had  left  the  infantry  behind,  went  back  to  inquire  for 
them.  They  were  held  up  by  German  bombers  in  a  trench, 
so  the  Tank  came  to  the  rescue,  bucked  over  the  trench,  and 
crushed  the  bombers  into  the  earth  before  backing  into  a 
deep  shell-crater  and  toppling  over.  Here  for  an  hour  and 
a  half  it  formed  a  barricade  between  British  and  German 
bombers,  and  the  crew  got  out  and  tried  to  hoist  it  out  of 
the  shell-hole  under  heavy  fire.  One  of  the  men  picked  up 
a  live  bomb  flung  by  the  enemy,  and  tried  to  hurl  it  to  a  safe 
distance,  away  from  his  comrades,  but  was  blown  to  bits. 
Finally  the  "skipper,"  with  his  surviving  men,  came  back 
to  our  lines,  leaving  the  derelict  monster  still  used  as  a 
barricade. 

North  of  Ginchy  telegraph  one  of  the  Tanks  attacked  a 
machine-gun  emplacement  and  killed  many  of  the  men. 
East  of  Delville  Wood  another  advanced  upon  a  German 
trench  called  Laager  Lane,  and  so  frightened  the  enemy 
that  about  a  hundred  of  them  came  out  under  white  flags 
and  surrendered  to  it,  following  the  monster  back  to  our 
lines. 

The  attack  on  Hop  Alley,  by  Delville  Wood,  was  led  by 
a  Tank  which  attacked  a  number  of  bombers  and  put  them 
to  flight,  so  that  the  trench  was  cleared  for  the  infantry. 
Afterwards,  under  a  heavy  German  barrage,  it  could  ad- 
vance no  further,  and  the  skipper  and  his  crew,  after  doing 
this  fine  work,  came  out  of  their  monster  and,  with  splendid 
heroism,  helped  our  wounded  for  three  hours. 

The  officer  who  did  what  the  soldiers  call  the  great 
"stunt"  in  Flers  told  me  his  story  to-day,  and  I  found  him 
to  be  as  modest  a  fellow  as  any  naval  officer  on  a  light 
cruiser,  and  of  the  same  fine  type.  He  went  into  Flers  be- 
fore the  infantry  and  followed  by  them,  cheering  in  high 
spirits,  and  knocked  out  a  machine-gun  which  began  to 
play  on  him.  The  town  was  not  much  damaged  by  shell- 
fire,  so  that  the  Tank  could  walk  about  real  streets,  and 
the  garrison,  which  was  hiding  about  in  dug-outs,  surren- 
dered in  small,  scared  groups.    Then  the  other  Tanks  came 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  307 

into  FlerSj  and  together  they  lolloped  around  the  town  in  a 
free  and  easy  manner  before  going  further  afield. 

The  Tank  which  went  through  High  Wood  did  great  exe- 
cution over  the  German  trenches,  and  another  wandered 
around  shell-craters  "killing"  German  machine-guns.  The 
casualties  were  slight  considering  the  great  success  of  the 
experiment,  and  on  all  sides  among  our  soldiers  there  is 
nothing  but  praise  of  the  gallant  men  who  led  them.  They 
are  still  going  strong. 

To-day  one  of  the  monsters — it  was  old  "Cordon  Rouge" 
— came  waddling  over  shell-craters,  climbing  over  broken 
trenches,  and  fetched  up  outside  the  door  of  a  brigadier's 
dug-out.  From  the  inside  of  the  beast  came  a  very  cool 
and  grave  young  man,  who  saluted  in  a  naval  way,  and 
said,  "I  await  your  orders,  sir,  for  going  into  action." 

"And  I'm  very  glad  you  didn't  bring  your  monster  down 
into  my  dug-out,"  said  the  brigadier.  "But  it's  very  kind  of 
you  to  call,  and  no  doubt  we  shall  want  you  shortly." 


I  have  been  to-day,  and  for  four  days,  among  the  men 
who  have  broken  the  Flers  line  and  given  the  enemy  the 
hardest  blows  he  has  ever  suffered  on  this  front.  Sir 
Douglas  Haig  has  named  them  this  afternoon  in  his  great 
bulletin,  paying  a  tribute  to  their  valour  in  a  broad,  general 
way,  without  letting  the  enemy  know  too  much  about  the 
battaUons  facing  him.  They  were  all  splendid.  For  the  big 
battle  on  Friday  was  a  hard  one,  and  not  a  "walk  over," 
so  that  our  men  were  put  to  the  supreme  test  of  courage  by 
most  damnable  shell-fire  and  fierce  concentrated  barrages  by 
which  the  enemy's  gunners  at  long  range  endeavoured  to 
support  their  lost  and  suffering  infantry. 

What  touched  me  most,  perhaps,  though  Heaven  knows 
the  experiences  of  all  our  soldiers  made  one  awe-struck,  was 
the  way  in  which  our  newest  and  youngest  men  went 
through  with  their  business.     There  were  some  of  them 


S03  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

Derby  recruits,  who  had  never  yet  seen  what  shell-fire 
means  in  the  Somme  battle.  Older  men  among  them,  who 
knew,  were  sorry  for  them,  wondered  how  they  would 
"stick  it,"  and  said,  with  a  view  to  encouragement,  "Cheer 
up,  you'll  soon  be  dead."  They  did  not  hang  back,  these 
new  fellows.  The  rawest  recruits  among  them  strained 
forward  with  the  rest,  floundered  over  the  shell-holes  like 
the  others,  leapt  into  the  German  trenches,  like  men  of  old 
fighting  spirit. 


The  London  men  did  gloriously  and  had  one  of  the  hard- 
est points  of  the  attack,  and  came  under  some  of  the  heaviest 
storms  of  fire.  These  young  Civil  servants  and  men  of  the 
London  suburbs,  who  used  to  go  to  City  offices  by  early 
morning  trains — do  you  remember  how  they  spoke  once  of 
"London  pride"? — fought  sternly  and  endured  with  stoi- 
cism, and  had  a  laugh  left  in  them  after  the  battle  when 
they  forgot  the  frightfulness  of  it  all  and  remembered  the 
fantastic  adventures  of  the  Tanks  which  waddled  into  the 
German  lines,  knocking  down  tree-stumps,  climbing  over 
heaps  of  ruin,  and  "putting  the  wind  up"  in  the  enemy's 
ranks.  "It  was  a  fair  treat!"  said  one  of  them.  "Every 
time  I  think  of  it  I  can't  help  laughing!"  And  yet  it  was 
no  joke,  after  all,  but  very  grim  and  deadly  work. 

There  was  hardly  a  county  of  England  which  did  not 
have  its  sons  in  this  battle,  and  all  those  English  regiments 
of  the  north  and  the  south  were  so  good,  so  fine,  so  full  of 
spirit,  that  it  made  one  wonder  at  the  stock  that  has  bred 
these  men,  giving  to  them  out  of  the  strain  of  England  some 
quality  of  blood  that  has  withstood  all  the  weakening  in- 
fluences of  factory  life  and  city  life.  And  yet,  having 
written  that,  I  see  it  is  foolishness.  For  men  of  all  the 
Empire  were  here,  and  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  whole  race 
that  rose  at  dawn  out  of  the  trenches  and  shell-craters  and.^ 
went  forward  into  the  furnace  fires, 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  S09 


About  the  Scottish  troops  I  can  say  no  more  than  I  have 
said  a  hundred  times,  loving  all  those  Lowlanders  and 
Highlanders  "this  side  idolatry." 

I  was  with  some  of  their  officers  to-day  again,  and  heard 
stories  of  their  men  who  took  one  of  the  German  strong- 
holds after  a  serpentine  plan  of  attack  difficult  to  perform 
because  in  attacking  men  will  go  straight,  and  coming 
under  shell-fire  which  would  have  broken  the  spirit  of 
weaker  men.  But  they  went  on  in  waves  over  the  German 
trenches  and  into  the  village  where  some  hundreds  of  men 
surrendered  to  them,  coming  up  out  of  the  dug-outs  as  soon 
as  the  Scots  were  about  their  hiding-places. 

The  German  soldiers  had  been  thoroughly  frightened  by 
the  Tank,  which  had  come  nosing  in  before  the  infantry,  and 
many  of  them  huddled  piteously  under  its  flanks  in  order 
to  escape  from  its  rapid  fire.  Sixty  men  came  out  of  one 
dug-out  and  surrendered  in  this  way.  Afterwards  the  Scots 
pushed  on  beyond  the  stronghold  and  established  posts  and 
dug  cover  for  themselves  against  the  enemy's  gun-fire, 
which  threw  an  enormous  number  of  high  explosives  into 
their  old  place  of  defence,  which  was  stacked  with  timber 
for  dug-outs  and  other  stores  of  war  material. 


The  Canadians  gained  great  glory  on  Friday  and  Satur- 
day. After  their  long  and  hard  experiences  in  the  salient 
they  came  down  to  the  Somme  battlefield  determined  to  "get 
their  own  back,"  and  do  great  adventures.  Their  attack 
was  finely  organised,  and  when  all  the  difficulties  are  known 
will  be  put  down  to  their  credit  as  a  really  great  military 
achievement.  Among  them  is  a  body  of  French  Canadians, 
dark-eyed  fellows  whom  it  is  strange  to  meet  about  the 


310  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

villages  of  France  speaking  volubly  with  the  peasants  in 
their  own  tongue,  a  little  old-fashioned,  as  it  was  once 
spoken  in  the  days  of  Louis  XIV,  when  Canada  was  one  of 
the  brightest  rays  in  the  glory  of  the  Sun-King.  These 
fellows,  close  in  likeness  to  the  provincial  Frenchman, 
though  perhaps  more  dour  and  reserved,  went  away  like 
wolves  a-hunting,  and  raced  forward  to  a  German  strong- 
hold which  they  had  asked  leave  to  take. 

They  were  swept  by  machine-gun  fire  and  che-cked  by  a 
stubborn  defence  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  but  with  the 
help  of  the  two  Tanks,  called  "Creme  de  Menthe"  and 
"Cordon  Rouge,"  who  sat  on  the  enemy's  machine-gun  em- 
placements and  knocked  out  his  machine-gun  crews,  the 
French  Canadians  carried  the  stronghold  and  captured 
hundreds  of  prisoners. 

Later  I  hope  to  write  the  full  story  of  the  Canadian  vic- 
tory which  will  thrill  through  all  the  towns  and  fields  of 
the  great  Dominion  like  an  heroic  song,  for  these  men  from 
overseas  were  very  careless  of  death  so  that  they  might  win. 


Then  there  were  the  New  Zealanders,  those  clean-cut, 
handsome  fellows  in  the  felt  hats  with  a  bit  of  red  ribbon 
round  the  brim,  which  I  looked  for  down  village  streets 
and  in  French  harvest  fields  before  they  went  into  battle. 
Australia  has  set  a  great  example  to  them,  being  first  in 
the  fighting  round  Pozieres,  where  they  fought  as  wonder- 
fully as  in  the  Dardanelles.  They  were  not  less  gallant  in 
the  great  charge  they  made  at  dawn  on  Friday,  going  for- 
ward very  far  to  a  distant  place  across  No  Man's  Land,  and 
across  German  trenches,  under  heavy  fire,  and  out  "into 
the  blue"  in  pursuit  of  retreating  men. 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  311 


Sir  Douglas  Haig  mentions  last  of  all  the  Guards,  but  not 
because  they  were  least  in  valour.  They  fought  as  the 
Guards  always  fight,  with  superb  discipline,  and  with  a 
tradition,  that  is  sacred  to  them.  I  saw  them  before  they 
went  into  battle,  and  had  a  meal  in  the  mess  of  the  Irish 
Guards,  and  saw  them  marching  up  to  take  their  line  in  the 
battlefields. 

They  are  not  the  old  Guards  who  fought  at  Ypres  and  in 
many  bloody  battles  when  we  were  hard  pressed,  and  after- 
wards at  Loos,  when  they  had  some  fearful  hours.  Many 
of  those  brave  men  lie  under  the  soil  of  France,  and  new 
men  have  taken  their  place.  But  the  tradition  stays,  and  the 
physical  standard  of  the  men  has  not  been  lowered  by  a 
hair's  breadth,  and  their  discipline  is  still  upon  the  same  high 
and  hard  level.  Every  one  knew  they  would  put  up  a  great 
fight,  and  they  did. 

They  had  a  very  difficult  part  of  the  line,  and  had  to  pass 
machine-guns  which  swept  upon  their  ranks  in  enfilade  fire, 
and  had  to  advance  over  ground  covered  by  whirlwind  fire 
of  high  explosives.  But  they  gained  their  way  forward  in 
a  series  of  charges  which  went  straight  through  three  lines 
of  German  trenches,  and  captured  large  numbers  of  pris- 
oners after  heavy  fighting,  and  held  on  to  their  ground 
against  strong  counter-attacks.  The  tradition  of  the  Guards 
has  been  upheld,  and  a  new  tradition  has  been  given  to  them. 

I  must  put  into  a  line  some  late  important  news  of  the 
day,  which  is  the  great  casualties  inflicted  upon  the  enemy 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Guedecourt.  A  body  of  the  ene- 
my's infantry  was  observed  to  be  retreating  through  the 
mist,  and  they  were  caught  by  some  of  our  advanced  patrols, 
who  cut  them  to  pieces  with  machine-gun  fire.  Elsewhere 
the  enemy  is  surrendering  in  small  batches,  unable  to  stand 
the  fearful  slaughter  inflicted  upon  them  by  our  guns. 


312  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

8 

September  19 

Some  of  the  most  noble  fighting  quahties  in  the  great  bat- 
tle of  Friday  last  were  shown  by  the  troops  who  were  re- 
sponsible for  the  centre  of  the  attack  directed  against  Flers 
and  the  country  immediately  to  the  right  of  that  village. 
Those  who  were  given  the  task  of  assaulting  Flers  itself 
were  mostly  recruited  from  the  London  area. 

They  had  not  seen  much  fighting  before  going  into  the 
great  fire  of  the  Somme  battle.  Their  General,  who  had 
raised  and  trained  them,  was  sure  of  them,  and  had  taught 
each  man  the  task  expected  of  him  on  this  great  day,  so 
that  whatever  might  befall  their  officers,  the  men  should  not 
be  mere  sheep  without  a  sense  of  guidance  or  direction. 

When  they  formed  up  in  line  to  the  north  of  Delville 
Wood  (with  awkward  bits  of  German  trench  thrust  down 
upon  their  right  flank),  they  had  three  lines  in  front  of 
them  over  a  distance  of  about  2,500  yards  barring  their 
way  to  Flers.  It  was  a  long  way  and  a  hard  way  to  go,  but 
they  leapt  forward  in  solid  waves  of  keen  and  eager  men 
following  a  short  and  violent  barrage  from  our  heavy  guns. 

In  a  few  minutes  from  the  start  the  first  two  waves 
dropped  into  the  German  switch  line  running  diagonally 
from  the  real  Flers  line.  They  found  it  choked  with  Ger- 
man dead,  killed  by  our  gun-fire,  and  among  them  only  a 
poor  remnant  of  living  men.  The  first  two  waves  stayed  in 
the  trench  to  hold  it.  The  others  swept  on,  smashed  through 
the  Flers  line,  and  forged  their  way  over  shell-craters  under 
machine-gun  and  shrapnel  fire,  to  the  outskirts  of  Flers, 
which  they  reached  between  nine  and  ten  in  the  morning. 

Some  London  men  were  held  up  by  barbed  wire  pro- 
tecting a  hidden  trench  which  had  not  been  previously  ob- 
served, and  a  call  was  made  for  one  of  the  Tanks  which 
had  come  rolling  up  behind.  It  crawled  forward,  walking 
over  the  shell-craters,  and  smashed  the  whole  length  of 
barbed  wire  in  front,  firing  rapidly  upon  the  enemy's  bomb- 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  313 

ers  in  the  trench  and  putting  them  out  of  action.  This 
enabled  the  whole  line  to  advance  into  Flers  village  at  the 
tail  of  another  Tank  now  famous  for  its  adventures  in 
Flers,  which  I  have  already  narrated. 

The  victorious  troops  found  but  little  opposition  in  the 
village.  Curiously  enough,  it  was  not  strongly  defended  or 
fortified.  There  were  few  of  the  tunnels  and  dug-outs 
which  make  many  of  these  places  hard  to  capture,  and  the 
enemy  was  utterly  demoralised  by  the  motor  monster  which 
appeared  as  a  bad  dream  before  them.  The  enemy  flung  a 
heavy  barrage,  but  our  men  had  few  casualties. 


An  attempt  was  made  to  reach  Guedecourt,  and,  as  I 
have  already  told,  one  of  our  Tanks  reached  the  outskirts  of 
that  new  objective.  The  infantry  attack  failed  owing  to 
massed  machine-gun  fire,  and  the  men  fell  back  to  a  new 
line  of  trenches  hastily  dug  by  the  enemy  before  their 
defeat,  which  now  gave  us  useful  cover.  This  was  2,700 
yards  from  the  starting  point  at  dawn,  and  was  almost  a 
record  as  a  continuous  advance. 

The  enemy  rallied  and  made  two  counter-attacks,  one  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  other  between  four  and 
five.  They  were  tragic  attempts.  Some  of  our  machine- 
gunners  lay  in  waiting  for  them  and  mowed  down  these 
rows  of  men  as  they  came  bravely  forward.  It  was  such  a 
sight  as  I  watched  at  Falfemont  Farm  when  solid  bars  of 
tall  men  crumbled  and  fell  before  a  scythe  of  bullets. 

At  6.30  on  the  following  evening  our  troops  made  an- 
other attempt  to  reach  Guedecourt  in  co-operation  with  the 
men  on  their  right,  but  they  were  unable  to  get  the  whole 
distance  in  spite  of  a  most  heroic  assault  after  two  days  of 
heavy  fighting. 

The  force  attacking  on  the  right  of  Flers  on  Friday 
morning  had  similar  experiences  and  more  difficulties.  They 


314  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

are  men  who  know  all  there  is  to  know  about  the  Ypres 
salient,  where  I  met  them  first  nearly  a  year  ago.  They  are 
men  who  have  old  scores  to  wipe  off  against  the  enemy  in 
the  way  of  poison  gas  and  flame  jets,  and  they  went  very 
fiercely  into  the  battle. 

To  start  with,  they  had  to  clear  out  a  place  known  as 
Mystery  Corner,  to  the  right  of  Delville  Wood,  where  they 
captured  fifty-one  prisoners,  and  afterwards  a  trench  a  little 
to  the  north  of  that,  thrust  down  as  a  wedge  beween  their 
left  flank  and  the  right  of  the  troops  who  had  started  out 
for  Flers. 

This  second  strong  point  was  wiped  out  by  the  Tanks 
who  came  and  sat  down  on  it,  and  by  a  small  body  of  north 
countrymen  working  with  the  Tanks.  Their  particular  job 
was  done,  and  they  might  have  stayed  there,  but,  seeing  the 
long  waves  of  their  comrades  streaming  forward  to  the 
main  attack,  they  could  not  hold  back,  but  followed  on,  all 
through  the  fight  keeping  touch  in  a  most  orderly  way  with 
the  men  ahead  of  them,  and  doing,  as  they  put  it,  "odd 
jobs,"  such  as  knocking  out  machine-guns  and  killing 
snipers. 

It  was  so  with  other  men.  Having  done  their  allotted  task 
they  would  not  stand  and  hold,  but  streamed  after  the  tide 
which  went  through  and  past  them,  determined  to  be  in  at 
the  death. 

In  the  attacks  upon  Guedecourt  that  day  and  on  the  eve- 
ning of  the  next  they  had  a  hard  bad  time  like  the  men  on 
their  left.  They  were  under  enfilade  fire  from  machine- 
guns,  which  chattered  hour  after  hour,  never  silent.  "The 
air  was  stiff  with  bullets,"  says  one  of  the  officers.  Men 
finding  their  only  cover  in  shell  craters  could  not  put  their 
heads  up,  so  close  did  the  bullets  slash  the  earth.  And  in 
other  shell-craters  not  far  away  were  many  German  riflemen 
picking  off  any  man  who  appeared  for  a  moment  out  of  the 
tumbled  earth. 

It  was  a  hellish  neighbourhood,  yet  when  the  moment  for 
the  second   attack   came  mixed  companies  of  men   from 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  315 

various  regiments  who  had  mingled  in  the  inevitable  con- 
fusion of  such  a  place  and  time  (it  was  now  thirty-six  hours 
since  the  dawn  of  Friday)  rose  out  of  their  holes  in  the 
earth  and  formed  up  as  on  parade,  and  went  forward  in  a 
fine  gallant  style. 

It  was  impossible  in  the  face  of  all  those  bullets  about 
them,  and  they  fell  back  to  the  original  line  of  advance  well 
to  the  north  of  Flers,  which  was  good  enough  for  that 
day  after  such  heroic  work.  There  was  no  Division  in  our 
armies  who  could  have  done  better,  nor  who  did  better,  on  a 
great  day  when  all  did  well. 

lO 

And  now  I  must  tell  a  little  more  in  detail  the  story  of 
the  Guards  in  this  battle.  It  is  hard  to  tell  it,  and  not  all 
can  be  told  yet  because  of  the  enemy.  The  Guards  had 
their  full  share  of  the  fighting,  and  of  the  difficult  ground, 
with  strong  forces  against  them.  They  knew  that  would  be 
so  before  they  went  into  battle,  and  yet  they  did  not  ask 
for  better  things,  but  awaited  the  hour  of  attack  with  strong, 
gallant  hearts,  quite  sure  of  their  courage,  proud  of  their 
name,  full  of  trust  in  their  officers,  eager  to  give  a  smashing 
blow  at  the  enemy. 

These  splendid  men,  so  tall  and  proper,  so  hard  and  fine, 
went  away  as  one  might  imagine  the  old  knights  and  yeomen 
of  England  at  Agincourt.  For  the  first  time  in  the  history 
of  the  Coldstreamers,  three  battalions  of  them  charged  in 
line,  great  solid  waves  of  men,  as  fine  a  sight  as  the  world 
could  show.  Behind  them  were  the  Grenadiers,  and  again 
behind  these  men,  the  Irish. 

They  had  not  gone  more  than  200  yards  before  they  came 
under  the  enfilade  fire  of  massed  machine-guns  in  trenches 
not  previously  observed.  The  noise  of  this  fire  was  so 
loud  and  savage  that  although  hundreds  of  guns  were  firing, 
not  a  shot  could  be  heard.  It  was  just  the  stabbing,  staccato 
hammering  of  the  German  maxims.    Men  fell,  but  the  line* 


Sie  THE  BATTLES  OP  THE  SOMME 

were  not  broken.  Gaps  were  made  in  the  ranks,  but  they 
closed  up.  The  wounded  did  not  call  for  help,  but  cheered 
on  those  who  swept  past  and  on,  shouting,  "Go  on,  Lily 
Whites !" — which  is  the  old  name  for  the  Coldstreamers — 
"Get  at  'em,  Lily  Whites!" 

They  went  on  at  a  hot  pace  with  their  bayonets  lowered. 
Out  of  the  crumpled  earth — all  pits  and  holes  and  hillocks, 
torn  up  by  great  gun-fire — grey  figures  rose  and  fled.  They 
were  German  soldiers  terror-stricken  by  this  rushing  tide  of 
men. 

The  Guards  went  on.  Then  they  were  checked  by  two 
lines  of  trenches,  wired  and  defended  by  machine-guns  and 
bombers.  They  came  upon  them  quicker  than  they  ex- 
pected. Some  of  the  officers  were  puzzled.  Could  these  be 
the  trenches  marked  out  for  attack — or  other  unknown 
trenches?  Anyhow,  they  must  be  taken — and  the  Guards 
took  them  by  frontal  assault  full  in  the  face  of  continual 
blasts  of  machine-gun  bullets. 

There  was  hard  and  desperate  fighting.  The  Germans 
defended  themselves  to  the  death.  They  bombed  our  men 
who  attacked  them  with  the  bayonet,  served  their  machine- 
guns  until  they  were  killed,  and  would  only  surrender  when 
our  men  were  on  top  of  them.  It  was  a  very  bloody  hour 
or  more.  By  that  time  the  Irish  Guards  had  joined  the 
others.  All  the  Guards  were  together,  and  together  they 
passed  the  trenches,  swinging  left  inevitably  under  the 
machine-gun  fire  which  poured  upon  them  from  their  right, 
but  going  steadily  deeper  into  the  enemy  country  until  they 
were  2,000  yards  from  their  starting  place. 

Then  it  was  necessary  to  call  a  halt.  Many  officers  and 
men  had  fallen.  To  go  further  would  be  absolute  death. 
The  troops  on  the  right  had  been  utterly  held  up.  The 
Guards  were  "up  in  the  air,"  with  an  exposed  flank,  open  to 
all  the  fire  that  was  flung  upon  them  from  the  enemy's  lines. 
The  temptation  to  go  farther  was  great.  The  German  in- 
fantry was  on  the  run.  They  were  dragging  their  guns 
away.     There  was  a  great  panic  among  the  men  who  had 


MONSTERS  AND  MEN  317 

been  hiding  in  trenches.  But  the  German  machine  gtmners 
kept  to  their  posts  to  safeguard  a  rout,  and  the  Guards  had 
gone  far  enough  through  their  scourging  bullets. 

They  decided  very  wisely  to  hold  the  line  they  had  gained, 
and  to  dig  in  where  they  stood,  and  to  make  forward  posts 
with  strong  points.  They  had  killed  a  great  number  of 
Germans  and  taken  200  prisoners  and  fought  grandly.  So, 
now  they  halted  and  dug  and  took  cover  as  best  they  could 
in  shell-craters  and  broken  ground,  under  fierce  fire  from 
the  enemy's  guns. 

The  night  was  a  dreadful  one  for  the  wounded,  and  for 
men  who  did  their  best  for  the  wounded,  trying  to  be  deaf 
to  agonising  sounds.  Many  of  them  had  hairbreadth 
escapes  from  death.  One  young  officer  in  the  Irish  Guards 
lay  in  a  shell-hole  with  two  comrades,  and  then  left  it  for  a 
while  to  cheer  up  other  men  lying  in  surrounding  craters. 
When  he  came  back  he  found  his  two  friends  lying  dead, 
blown  to  bits  by  a  shell. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  bad  hours,  the  Guards  kept  cool, 
kept  their  discipline,  their  courage  and  their  spirit.  The 
Germans  launched  counter-attacks  against  them,  but  were 
annihilated.  The  Guards  held  their  ground,  and  gained  the 
greatest  honour  for  self-sacrificing  courage  which  has  ever 
given  a  special  meaning  to  their  name.  They  took  the 
share  which  all  of  us  knew  they  would  take  in  the  greatest 
of  all  our  battles  since  the  first  day  of  July,  and,  with  other 
regiments,  struck  a  vital  blow  at  the  enemy's  line  of  defence. 


XXXII 
LONDON  PRIDE 


1 

September  20 
Another  dark,  wet  day,  filled  with  grey  mist,  and  rain- 
storms and  mud.  Up  in  the  lines  British  soldiers  and  Ger- 
mans lie  near  each  other  in  shell-craters,  waist  high  in  water. 
The  rain  is  slashing  upon  them,  and  it  is  cold.  But  though 
gunners  cannot  see,  nor  airmen  fly,  the  bombardment  goes 
on,  and  all  day  long  there  has  been  the  dull  crashing  of 
heavy  shells,  on  both  sides  deep  and  sullen  boomings  through 
the  white  fog  of  this  foul  day. 

Last  night  and  early  in  the  morning  the  enemy  attempted 
a  counter-attack  at  different  parts  of  the  line.  They  at- 
tacked heavily  here  and  there  with  strong  bombing  parties, 
who  for  a  time  forced  a  way  into  our  new  lines,  at  the  corner 
of  Courcelette  and  the  north  of  Martinpuich  and  the  ground 
further  east. 

Many  of  them  were  killed — the  bad  weather  does  not  stop 
this  slaughter — and  they  were  driven  out  and  back  again  by 
men  who,  though  cold  in  their  shell-craters,  kept  their  cour- 
age and  flung  themselves  fiercely  upon  the  German  assault- 
ing troops,  in  sharp  bombing  fights,  which  left  us  with  more 
ground — at  least  in  one  part  of  the  line — than  we  had  be- 
fore. All  of  which  shows  that  the  enemy  is  hard  pressed 
and  tightly  held,  and  that  our  men — infantry  to  infantry — 
not  counting  gunfire,  have  the  mastery  of  these  German 
reserves,  and  a  spirit  that  refuses  to  be  beaten  even  by 
artillery. 

I  have  written  many  thousands  of   words  about  thi? 

318 


LONDON  PRroE  819 

abominable  war  since  the  first  shot  was  fired,  and  for  fifteen 
months  and  more  have  been  trying  to  picture  as  closely  as 
possible  the  life  of  our  soldiers  in  action,  but  I  am  conscious 
that  all  I  have  written  has  given  but  a  vague,  dim,  far-off 
glimpse  of  the  character,  sufferings,  and  valour  of  our  men. 
How  is  it  possible  to  show  these  things  truly,  to  make  my 
readers  understand  something  of  the  truth  when  I  cannot 
understand  myself,  but  can  only  guess  and  grope  at  the 
qualities  which  make  them  do  the  things  they  do?  Take 
our  last  great  day  of  battle — September  15 — there  were 
troops  of  many  different  types  engaged  in  its  fighting — 
Canadians,  New  Zealanders,  Scots,  Irish,  and  English  of 
many  counties.  One  would  expect  to  find  differences  among 
these  men,  to  find  some  harder  than  others,  or  softer  than 
others,  battalions  here  and  there  who  flinched  before  the 
storm  of  steel  and  those  frightful  shells  which  open  great 
chasms  in  the  earth.  But  on  Friday  the  courage  of  all 
those  men  was  of  one  quality,  and  a  man  would  be  a  liar 
who  said  that  one  set  of  men  were  less  brave  than  another. 


To-day  I  went  among  the  London  men,  and  afterwards 
among  some  Highlanders,  who  have  a  special  place  in  my 
heart.  In  blood,  in  upbringing,  in  physique,  in  temperament 
one  could  not  find  two  bodies  of  men  more  unlike,  yet  they 
have  been  alike  in  splendid  endurance  under  merciless  fire 
last  Friday  and  onwards.  "I  cannot  understand  how  my 
boys  stuck  it  out  during  the  worst  hours  they  had,"  said  a 
colonel  of  one  of  the  City  of  London  battalions.  "They 
just  had  to  sit  in  shell-craters  under  heavy  crumps.  Many 
men  would  not  have  gone  through  with  it.  But  the  London 
boys  just  stayed  there,  gamely.    They  are  wonderful." 

The  colonel  himself  was  wonderful — this  old  Territorial 
soldier,  nearly  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  white  moustache 
and  grizzled  eye-brows  that  did  not  hide  the  bright  and 


320  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

almost  boyish  light  in  his  eyes.  He  used  to  be  a  dyspeptic 
and  a  "bundle  of  nerves,"  so  he  told  me,  and  did  not  think 
he  could  last  three  months  of  war.  But  now,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  third  year  of  war  he  led  his  battalion  into  action, 
went  under  some  of  the  fiercest  fire  along  the  whole  battle- 
line  with  them,  and  lay  side  by  side  with  his  "boys,"  as  he 
calls  them,  in  a  shell-hole  which  became  filled  with  water  by 
violent  rainstorms.  For  three  days  and  nights  he  lay  there 
while  the  enemy  was  trying  to  shell  our  men  to  death  by  his 
monstrous  five-point-nines. 

There  were  London  men  with  him  and  all  around  him  in 
the  same  kind  of  holes — for  there  were  no  trenches  here — 
and  though  even  the  sergeants  were  shaking  with  a  kind  of 
ague,  not  with  cold,  but  after  the  nervous  strain  of  enduring 
the  incessant  shock  of  high  explosives,  they  "carried  on," — ■ 
O  splendid  phrase ! — and  not  a  fellow  played  the  coward, 
though  all  were  very  much  afraid,  as  all  men  are  in  these 
frightful  hours. 

They  had  been  born  and  bred  in  London.  They  had  worn 
black  coats  and  "toppers"  in  the  City — all  the  officers  among 
them — and  the  men  had  been  in  warehouses  and  offices  and 
shops  down  Thames-side  and  away  to  Whitehall.  They 
had  played  the  gentle  game  of  dominoes  in  luncheon  hours 
over  a  glass  of  milk  and  a  Bath  bun.  They  had  grown 
nasturtiums  in  suburban  gardens,  and  their  biggest  adven- 
ture in  life  had  been  the  summer  manoeuvres  of  the  dear  old 
"Terriers."  And  now — they  fought  through  German 
trenches  and  lay  in  shell-holes,  and  every  nerve  in  their 
brains  and  bodies  was  ravaged  by  the  tumult  of  shell-fire 
about  them  and  by  the  wounded  who  lay  with  them.  But 
these  Londoners  who  fight  on  their  nerves  were  no  less 
staunch  than  men  like  the  Scots  and  the  North  Country 
lads,  who,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  have  no  nerves  at  all. 


LONDON  PRIDE  321 


There  were  some  strange  individual  adventures  in  the 
midst  of  the  general  experience  of  rushing  two  lines  of 
German  trenches  through  a  violent  barrage  and  getting  for- 
ward to  open  country,  where  they  dug  themselves  in. 
Among  ten  machine-guns  which  they  captured  on  their  way 
up  there  was  one  handled  by  a  German  gunner  who  awaited 
his  chance  to  sweep  the  ranks  of  the  London  lads.  But  he 
did  not  get  it.  An  officer  of  the  London  regiment  who  was 
carrying  a  rifle  "spotted"  the  man  quickly  and  killed  him 
with  a  straight  shot  before  he  had  fired  more  than  a  few 
bullets.    That  rifle-shot  saved  the  lives  of  many  of  our  men. 

In  the  second  German  trench  there  was  a  sharp  fight,  and 
one  single  combat  between  one  of  our  officers — who  hap- 
pens to  be  a  South  African— and  a  great  lusty  German  who 
was  a  much  bigger  man  than  ours.  It  was  a  bayonet  duel 
as  two  mediaeval  knights  might  have  fought  in  the  old  days 
with  heavy  swords. 

Our  officer  was  already  wounded  twice.  He  had  a  bullet 
through  the  shoulder,  and  a  damaged  jaw.  But  five  times 
he  pierced  his  enemy  with  the  bayonet.  It  should  have  been 
enough,  but  the  great  German  still  fought.  Both  bayonets 
were  dropped  and  the  two  men  closed  and  wrestled  with 
each  other,  trying  to  get  a  grip  of  the  throat.  The  German 
wrestler,  bloody  as  he  was,  seemed  to  keep  all  his  brute 
strength,  but  he  was  laid  out  by  a  bullet  in  the  neck  from  a 
sergeant  of  the  Londoners  who  came  to  the  rescue  of  the 
officer.  Afterwards  this  easy-going  gentleman— from 
South  Africa — chatted  with  his  colonel  over  the  body  of 
his  man  as  quietly  and  calmly  as  though  he  were  in  his 
smoking-room  at  home,  and  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
his  wounds,  refusing  to  go  down  to  the  doctor,  but  going 
forward  again  with  his  men. 

Some  of  the  men  went  too  far  in  their  eagerness,  away 
into  the  "blue."     No  word  came  back   from  them.     No 


THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

signal.  Later  one  man  trudged  back,  bringing  two  pris- 
oners. "Where  are  the  others?"  he  was  asked.  He  pointed 
far  away,  and  said  "Over  there."  He  is  the  only  man  who 
has  come  back  from  that  place  of  mystery. 


Some  of  the  London  battalions  did  not  suffer  so  heavily 
as  might  have  been  expected,  from  the  hard  task  they  had, 
and  the  wonderful  way  in  which  they  fought.  What  loss 
they  suffered  was  the  price  of  extreme  valour.  The  charge 
of  the  Light  Brigade  at  Balaclava  has  been  put  into  song  as 
one  of  the  great  heroic  tales  of  history.  Will  any  one  make 
a  song  of  the  London  men  who  fought  forward  through  a 
hurricane  of  fire? 

The  stretcher-bearers  of  the  London  Territorials  did  their 
work  nobly,  and  among  them  as  a  volunteer  was  one  German 
who  deserves  a  word  of  praise,  by  men  with  a  sporting 
spirit,  fair  to  their  enemy.  He  had  first  been  taken  prisoner 
by  an  officer  of  ours,  who  was  then  hit  by  a  piece  of  shell  or 
a  rifle  bullet.  He  fell,  and  could  not  rise  again,  but  his 
prisoner,  who  was  an  officer,  too,  picked  him  up  and  carried 
him  across  the  battlefield  to  our  dressing  station,  and  then 
stood  by  for  an  escort  to  take  him  away. 

The  General  commanding  these  London  men  spoke  of 
them  to-day  with  a  thrill  in  his  voice.  He  had  been  with 
them,  and  had  reconnoitred  their  ground,  and  had  seen  their 
way  of  fighting.  When  I  spoke  to  him  he  had  been  without 
sleep  and  rest  for  two  days  and  nights.  "No  men  could 
have  done  better,"  he  said.  "No  general  could  wish  to  com- 
mand braver  men  or  better  men.  Their  discipline  is  splen- 
did. There  is  never  any  crime  among  them.  They  behave 
always  as  gentlemen  should  behave,  and  they  fight  with  fine 
hearts.  These  London  boys  of  mine  had  one  of  the  hardest 
tasks  on  Friday,  and  they  carried  it  through  with  a  most 
gallant  spirit." 


LONDON  PRIDE  323 


Another  day  I  must  write  of  the  Highlanders  whom  I 
met  to-day — those  Gay  Gordons  of  whom  I  have  written 
several  times  when  I  have  found  them  in  other  parts  of  the 
battle-line.  Some  of  them  waved  hands  to  me  to-day  and 
shouted  cheerfully  across  a  track  of  mud,  and,  seeing  the 
faces  under  their  bonnets,  I  was  enormously  glad  to  find 
these  old  friends  of  mine  alive  and  well  after  many  days  of 
fighting.  Squarer,  tougher,  harder  men  than  the  Lon- 
doners, they  fought  in  their  own  style,  gloriously,  with  all 
their  comrades  in  kilts  or  trews  who  swept  across  the  Ger- 
man lines,  and  then  held  their  captured  ground  under  in- 
fernal fire.  One  story  they  told  me  of  the  things  they  have 
seen  is  a  grim  little  picture  which  is  etched  in  my  brain. 

Two  of  them  went  down  into  a  German  dug-out  and 
started  back  when  they  saw  a  man  seated  there  at  table. 
The  table  was  laid  for  a  meal,  but  the  food  was  uneaten. 
It  was  a  dead  German  officer  who  sat  before  them,  as  though 
asleep.  The  top  of  the  dug-out  had  been  knocked  in  by  one 
of  our  shells,  and  something  had  fallen  and  killed  him  as  he 
was  beginning  breakfast.  The  Gordons  went  into  other 
dug-outs  and  found  other  dead  bodies,  but  it  was  this  sit- 
ting man  that  they  remember  most. 


XXXIII 

THE  SPLENDID  NEW  ZEALANDERS 


I 

September  23 
It  was  inevitable  that  after  the  great  battle  of  September  15 
our  line  should  have  ragged  edges  and  run  up  or  down  into 
small  salients.  This  was  due  to  the  greater  progress  made 
by  different  bodies  of  troops;  and  to  the  way  in  which 
isolated  groups  of  Germans  held  on  very  stubbornly  to  these 
stretches  of  ground  not  in  the  general  line  of  our  advance. 

During  the  past  forty-eight  hours  a  good  deal  has  been 
done  to  clear  out  these  pockets,  or  wedges,  and  to  straighten 
out  the  line  from  Courcelette  eastwards. 

This  morning  our  troops  did  a  useful  bit  of  work  in  such 
a  place  between  Courcelette  and  Martinpuich,  knocking  out 
a  strong  post  and  taking  some  prisoners,  with  whom  were 
two  officers.  Elsewhere  strong  posts  thrust  out  by  us  be- 
yond the  main  trenches  have  been  linked  up,  so  that  the  line 
now  runs  in  a  reasonably  even  way  from  the  north  of 
Courcelette  across  the  Bapaume  Road,  above  Martinpuich, 
and  so  on  to  the  north  of  Flers. 

This  linking-up  and  clearing-up  work  now  done  to  a  great 
extent,  puts  us  in  a  stronger  position  of  defence,  to  hold 
what  we  have  gained,  against  any  attempts  made  by  the 
enemy  in  counter-attack. 

He  has  made  many  attempts  since  September  1 5  to  drive 
our  troops  out  of  the  high  ground,  which  is  vital  to  his 
means  of  observation,  and  the  failure  of  them  has  cost 
him  a  great  price  in  life. 

324 


THE  SPLENDID  NEW  ZEALANDERS        325 


Among  the  most  desperate  thrusts,  pressed  with  stubborn 
bravery  by  bodies  of  German  soldiers,  collected  hastily  and 
flung  with  but  little  plan  or  preliminary  organisation  against 
our  lines,  were  those  directed  upon  the  New  Zealanders, 
who  repelled  them  after  hard  and  long  conflicts  fought  out 
for  the  most  part  with  naked  steel. 

In  all  the  fighting  since  July  i  there  has  not  been  anything 
more  fierce  or  more  bloody  than  these  hand-to-hand  strug- 
gles on  the  left  of  Flers,  and  the  New  Zealanders  have 
gained  a  greater  name  for  themselves  (it  was  already  a  great 
name  since  Gallipoli )  as  soldiers  who  hate  to  give  up  what 
they  have  gained,  who  will  hold  on  to  ground  with  a  grim 
obstinacy  against  heavy  odds,  and  if  they  are  ordered  to 
retreat  because  of  the  military  situation  round  them  come 
back  again  with  a  stern  resolve  to  "get  the  goods." 

That  is  not  only  my  reading  of  the  men,  and  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  know  them  well,  but  is  the  summing-up  of  an  of- 
ficer, not  from  their  own  country,  who  has  seen  them  fight 
during  these  last  few  days,  and  who  spoke  of  them  with  a 
thrill  of  admiration  in  his  voice,  after  watching  the  stoicism 
with  which  they  endured  great  shell-fire,  the  spirit  with 
which  they  attacked  after  great  fatigues  and  hardships,  and 
the  rally  of  men,  discouraged  for  a  while  by  their  loss  of 
oflficers,  which  swept  the  Germans  back  into  panic-stricken 
flight. 

This  struggle  covers  a  week's  fighting  since  September  15, 
when  at  dawn  the  New  Zealanders  advanced  in  waves  to  a 
series  of  positions  which  would  bring  them  up  to  the  left  of 
Flers  if  they  had  the  luck  to  getas  far.  On  their  right  were 
the  troops  whose  capture  of  Flers  village  I  have  already 
described,  and  on  their  left  other  troops  attacking  High 
Wood  and  the  ground  north  of  it. 

The  men  of  New  Zealand  went  forward  with  hardly  a 
check,  to  the  German  switch  trench  500  yards  from  the 


326  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

starting  line.  They  were  men  of  Auckland,  Canterbury, 
Otago,  and  Wellington,  and  they  put  their  trust  in  the 
bayonet  and  desired  to  get  close  to  their  enemy. 

They  had  their  desire.  In  the  switch  trench  the  Germans 
defended  themselves  to  the  last  gasp,  and,  as  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  only  four  of  them  were  left  alive  after  that 
frightful  encounter.  It  was  a  fight  to  the  death  on  both 
sides,  and  the  New  Zealanders  did  not  cross  that  ditch  at 
full  strength. 

On  the  way  up  they  lost  under  shrapnel  and  machine- 
gun  fire.  On  the  other  side  of  the  ditch  their  lines  were 
thinner.  But  they  were  on  the  other  side,  and  the  ditch 
behind  them  was  a  grave  upon  which  they  turned  their 
backs  to  get  across  the  next  stretch  of  ground  to  trenches 
800  yards  ahead. 

The  New  Zealand  Rifles  covered  this  ground  quickly, 
moving  in  open  order,  but  keeping  in  touch  with  each  other 
by  fine  discipline  and  an  esprit  de  corps  which  is  better  than 
discipline. 


That  next  system  of  trench  work,  two  lines  heavily  wired 
and  deeply  dug,  part  of  the  famous  Flers  line,  was  a  great 
obstacle.  Our  gun-fire,  grand  as  it  had  been,  had  not  laid 
all  the  wire  low  nor  destroyed  the  trenches.  A  swish  of 
machine-gun  bullets  showed  that  the  enemy  was  alive  and 
savage. 

An  infantry  assault  on  such  a  line  had  to  be  paid  for, 
sometimes  by  a  great  number  of  dead  and  wounded.  But 
it  was  the  day  of  the  Tanks.  Two  of  them  had  tried  to 
keep  pace  with  the  New  Zealand  attack,  but  had  lagged 
behind  like  short-winded  creatures  suffering  from  stitch — 
and  no  wonder,  looking  at  the  shell-craters  and  pits  across 
which  they  had  to  bring  their  long  bodies,  crawling  in  and 
crawling  out,  with  their  tails  above  their  heads  and  their 
heads  above  their  tails. 


THE  SPLENDID  NEW  ZEALANDERS        327 

But  they  arrived  in  time  to  attack  the  Flers  line,  and  in 
a  very  deliberate  and  stolid  way  they  sidled  along  the  barbed 
wire,  smashing  it  into  the  earth,  before  poking  their  big 
snouts  over  the  German  parapets,  hauling  themselves  up, 
and  firing  from  both  flanks  upon  German  machine-gun 
teams. 

With  this  noteworthy  help,  which  saved  time  and  trouble 
and  life,  the  New  Zealanders  took  the  double  trenches  of  the 
Flers  line,  and  again  pushed  on,  another  700  yards,  across 
a  sunken  road  with  steep  banks  and  very  deep  dug-outs, 
where  the  enemy  did  not  stay  to  meet  them  until  they  had 
established  themselves  on  a  line  running  westwards  from 
the  top  of  Flers  village,  now  in  the  hands  of  our  English 
lads. 

One  of  the  Tanks  followed  them,  getting  down  the  steep 
bank  with  its  nose  to  earth,  and  lumbering  up  the  other 
side  like  a  huge  elephant  ( without  a  trunk ) . 

A  German  battery  1,500  yards  away  searched  for  it  with 
shell-fire,  but  did  not  get  within  hitting  distance  of  its  ar- 
moured skin.  Eventually  it  was  the  German  battery  that 
was  knocked  out  by  our  guns. 

However,  this  was  a  side-show,  and  the  Tanks  must  not 
take  all  the  glory  away  from  the  infantry,  who  had  not  ar- 
moured skins,  alas,  and  who  were  facing  murderous  fire  else- 
where. 


They  had  been  ordered  to  swing  left  to  make  a  flanking 
front  up  the  edge  of  a  valley  running  north-west  of  Flers, 
right  away  beyond  the  village,  and  this  they  did  most  gal- 
lantly, although  at  the  time  they  stuck  out  like  a  thin  wedge 
into  German  territory,  because  at  that  time  they  had  no 
support  on  their  left  (our  English  fellows,  as  I  have  de- 
scribed in  an  earlier  despatch,  had  been  having  a  fearful 
time  in  and  beyond  High  Wood),  and  on  the  right  the  other 
English  troops  were  busy  with  the  capture  of  Flers. 


328  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

It  was  clearly  and  undeniably  a  hazardous  position  for 
the  New  Zealanders  all  alone  out  there,  and  they  were  or- 
dered to  fall  back  to  the  line  going  straight  westwards  from 
the  top  of  Flers  village,  which  they  helped  to  hold,  on  the 
night  of  the  15th  to  i6th. 

From  that  day  onwards  the  enemy  made  repeated  counter- 
attacks. Sometimes  they  were  in  feeble  strength,  shattered 
quickly,  but  they  grew  in  intensity  and  numbers  as  the  days 
passed,  while  the  New  Zealanders  were  still  in  a  rather  pre- 
carious position,  "a  rocky  position,"  says  one  of  their  of- 
ficers, owing  to  the  weakness  of  their  left  flank. 

Right  down  on  that  flank  Germans  were  still  holding  out 
in  shell-craters  with  a  way  open  behind  them,  so  that  sup- 
ports might  come  down  to  drive  a  wedge  between  the  New 
Zealanders  and  the  English  troops  north  of  High  Wood. 

This  was  attempted  by  something  like  a  brigade  of  Ger- 
mans, who  advanced  in  six  or  seven  waves  upon  the  English 
soldiers — who  were  outnumbered  by  more  than  two  to  one — 
in  a  steady,  determined  way.  They  were  met  out  in  the 
open  with  the  bayonet.  It  was  the  old  way  of  fighting  men 
meeting  men,  staring  into  each  other's  eyes,  trusting  to  their 
own  strength  and  skill  with  sharp  steel,  and  not  to  engines 
of  war  with  high  explosives  or  quick-firing  guns. 

If  men  fight  it  is  the  best  way  though  not  pleasant  and 
agreeable  for  ladies  to  watch  from  silken  canopies,  as  in  the 
old  days  of  the  tourney,  when  gentlemen  hacked  at  each 
other  with  axes,  just  for  fun.  A  New  Zealand  officer 
watched  it  from  a  little  distance,  and  his  breath  came  quick 
when  he  described  it  to  me.  The  German  ranks  were  broken 
and  a  remnant  fled. 

But  it  was  not  so  long  or  so  bloody  a  fight  as  what  the 
New  Zealanders  themselves  had  to  encounter  three  days 
ago. 

The  enemy  struck  a  blow  against  the  New  Zealand  troops, 
at  the  joining  point  between  those  men  and  their  comrades 
on  the  left,  who  had  come  up  to  the  west  of  Flers. 

The  New  Zealanders — who  were  Canterbury  men — were 


THE  SPLENDID  NEW  ZEALANDERS        329 

beaten  back  twice,  and  twice  regained  the  ground.  All 
through  the  night  of  September  20  until  the  dawn  of  the 
2 1  St,  there  was  violent  bomb-fighting  and  bayonet  fighting. 
There  was  no  straight  line  of  men  British  on  one  side, 
German  on  the  other.  It  was  a  confused  mass,  isolated 
bodies  of  men  struggling  around  shell-craters  and  bits  of 
trench,  single  figures  fighting  twos  and  threes,  groups  join- 
ing to  form  lines  which  surged  backwards  and  forwards 
and  a  night  horrible  with  the  crash  of  bombs  and  the  cries 
of  the  dying. 


One  New  Zealand  officer,  a  very  splendid  heroic  man,  was 
the  life  and  soul  of  this  defence  and  counter-attack. 

There  were  moments  when  some  of  his  men  were  dis- 
heartened because  their  line  had  fallen  back,  and  the  number 
of  their  wounded  lay  too  thick  about  them.  He  put  new 
fire  into  them  by  the  flame  of  his  own  spirit.  He  led  them 
forward  again,  rallying  the  gloomy  ones,  so  careless  of  his 
own  life,  so  eager  for  the  honour  of  New  Zealand  that  they 
followed  him  under  a  kind  of  spell,  because  of  the  magic 
in  him. 

They  thrust  back  the  enemy,  put  him  to  flight  down  the 
valley,  remained  masters  of  the  ground  when  the  dawn 
brightened  into  the  full  light  of  day,  revealing  the  carnage 
that  had  been  hidden  in  the  night. 

It  was  not  the  end  of  the  fighting  here.  In  the  afternoon 
the  enemy  came  again,  in  strong  numbers — sent  forward 
by  their  high  command,  men  at  the  end  of  far  telephones, 
desperate  to  retake  the  ground,  and  ordering  new  assaults 
which  were  sentences  of  death  to  German  soldiers  not  at 
the  end  of  far  telephones  but  very  near  to  British  bayonets. 

They  came  on  thickly,  these  doomed  men,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  and  it  was  again  the  captain  of  the  Canterburys 
who  led  his  men  against  them  in  a  great  bayonet  charge, 
right  across  the  open. 


380  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

It  was  bayonet  against  bayonet,  for  the  Germans  stood 
to  receive  the  charge,  though  with  blanched  faces.  For  the 
New  Zealanders  came  upon  them  at  the  trot  and  then  sprang 
forward  with  bayonets  as  quick  as  knitting  needles.  .  .  . 

The  Germans  cried  out  in  terror.  Down  the  hillside,  be- 
yond, those  who  could  escape  ran,  and  fell  as  they  ran. 
It  was  a  rout  and  the  end  of  the  counter-attack. 

The  New  Zealanders  were  now  sure  of  themselves.  They 
knew  that  with  the  bayonet  they  can  meet  the  Germans  as 
their  masters.  So  scornful  are  they  of  their  bayonet  fight- 
ing that  they  have  it  in  their  hearts  to  pity  them  and  say 
"Poor  devils!" 

To  my  mind,  and  to  others,  the  finest  heroism  was  shown 
by  the  New  Zealand  stretcher-bearers.  They  did  not  charge 
with  the  bayonet.  All  their  duty  was  to  go  out  across  open 
country  in  cool  blood  to  pick  up  men  lying  there  in  blood 
that  was  not  cool  unless  they  had  lain  there  too  long. 

They  had  to  go  through  salvoes  of  five-point-nines,  which 
tore  up  the  ground  about  them,  and  buried  them,  and 
mangled  many  of  them.  And  they  went  quite  steadily  and 
quietly,  not  once  or  twice,  but  hour  after  hour,  until  more 
than  sixty  of  them  had  fallen,  and  hour  after  hour  they  car- 
ried out  their  work  of  rescue  quite  careless  of  themselves. 

'T  am  not  a  sentimentalist,"  said  a  New  Zealand  officer 
to-day,  as  he  looked  at  me  with  grave  eyes,  remembering 
those  scenes,  "but  the  work  of  those  men  seemed  to  me  very 
noble  and  good." 

In  New  Zealand  and  in  the  quiet  farmsteads  there,  those 
words  will  be  read  gladly,  I  think. 

And  if  any  words  of  mine  could  give  a  little  extra  share 
of  honour  to  these  Colonial  boys,  who  have  come  so  far 
overseas  to  fight  by  the  side  of  English  soldiers,  I  should 
be  glad  and  proud  too,  having  a  heart  very  full  of  admira- 
tion for  the  valour  of  these  men,  who  have  fought  in  these 
great  battles  as  well  as  any  troops  who  shared  the  day 
with  them. 


XXXIV 
THE  CANADIANS  AT  COURCELETTE 


I 

September  21 
In  a  scrappy  way  I  have  told  something  about  the  way  the 
Canadians  fought  for  Courcelette.  It  is  worth  more  than 
that  as  an  historic  narrative.  From  first  to  last,  beginning 
with  the  dawn  of  Friday,  September  15,  and  going  on  now, 
beyond  the  village,  against  German  counter-attacks,  these 
men  from  the  West  have  shown  themselves  very  gallant, 
and  hard  and  quick  in  fighting  qualities. 

There  was  a  body  of  French  Canadians  among  them, 
dark-eyed  fellows,  of  the  same  type  as  the  French  people 
among  whom  they  found  themselves  by  the  odd  chance  of 
fate,  like  some  of  the  French  Chasseurs  Alpins  who  have 
been  fighting  on  our  right,  lithe-bodied  men,  with  muscles 
like  whipcord,  full  of  individual  character,  and  an  old 
tradition  of  warfare  behind  them,  war  against  nature  and 
wild  animals,  away  from  town  life. 

The  enemy  was  not  sure  what  men  he  had  against  him 
down  below  Courcelette.  I  think  it  was  to  get  this  knowl- 
edge that  he  sent  out  a  number  of  his  bombers  just  before 
the  Canadian  attack  was  to  be  launched.  I  have  already 
told  about  the  sergeant  who  saw  them  coming,  and  about 
the  boy  by  his  side  who  was  buried  alive  by  a  shell,  and  lived 
to  tell  me  the  tale  with  a  strange  smile  in  his  brown  eyes, 
as  he  leaned  on  a  crooked  stick,  some  old  tree  stump  he  had 
picked  up  to  support  him  when  he  was  weak  from  loss  of 
blood.  He  was  one  of  the  French  Canadian  boys.  The 
German  bombers  came  out  of  the  darkness  suddenly,  and 

331 


332  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

pounced  upon  a  bit  of  trench,  flinging  their  hand-grenades, 
and  trying  to  grab  some  of  our  men  as  prisoners.  It  was 
just  like  one  of  the  old  raids,  better  done  by  the  Canadians 
themselves.  They  had  a  short  innings,  and  not  a  man  went 
back.  A  Canadian  machine-gunner  rushed  up  to  his 
"Lewis,"  and  killed  those  who  came  over  our  parapets. 
One  officer  with  twelve  bombers  accounted  for  the  others. 
But  it  was  awkward  happening  just  at  the  hour  when 
the  grand  attack  was  waiting  for  the  word  "Go."  It  might 
have  disorganised  the  plan  at  the  outset.  The  Canadians 
did  not  let  it  make  any  kind  of  difference  to  them.  At  the 
exact  moment  all  the  waves  of  men  rose,  swept  over  the 
dead  bodies  of  the  raiders,  and  in  a  great  tide  rolled  over 
No  Man's  Land.  Three  Tanks  went  with  them,  slower  than 
the  infantry,  but  climbing  steadily  over  the  trenches  and  the 
shell  craters,  and  prowling  around  for  the  places  from 
which  there  came  a  spitting  fire  of  machine-guns.  They 
found  some  of  them  in  the  Sugar  Factory,  and  I  have  told 
how  they  sat  down  there,  crumpling  the  emplacements  under 
their  heavy  ribs,  and  pouring  out  a  deadly  fire. 


The  Canadian  infantry  had  a  difficult  operation.  The 
ground  from  the  high  ridge  of  Pozieres  sloped  down  before 
them  to  the  edge  of  the  village  of  Courcelette,  where  they 
had  been  ordered  to  halt  and  consolidate  while  reserve  bat- 
talions— the  French  Canadians  on  the  right — came  up  be- 
hind to  "mop-up"  the  captured  ground.  A  German  trench 
ran  at  an  angle  from  their  objective,  and  as  they  advanced 
the  Canadians  had  to  take  this  en  passant,  as  chess-players 
would  say,  the  flank  capturing  the  trench  at  the  same  rate 
of  progress  as  the  centre  and  right  went  forward. 

It  was  done.  Through  machine-gun  fire  and  an  inferno 
of  shrapnel  and  high  explosives  the  Canadians  stormed  their 
way  down  the  slope,  shouting  and  cheering  as  they  went, 


THE  CANADIANS  AT  COURCELETTE        333 

led  by  officers  who  urged  them  on,  before  falling,  some  of 
them,  mortally  wounded.  In  the  trenches  the  German  sol- 
diers fought  stubbornly,  flinging  their  bombs  and  maintain- 
ing a  rapid  rifle  fire  until  the  Canadians  were  right  upon 
them  with  the  bayonet.  At  the  sight  of  sharp  steel  they 
fought  no  more,  but  flung  up  their  hands. 

The  Canadians  had  a  long  way  to  go  to  the  outskirts  of 
Courcelette,  right  across  open  country,  and  as  they  went 
the  German  crumps  fell  among  them,  tossing  up  great 
masses — as  large  as  village  churches — of  smoke  and  earth 
filled  with  flying  shell-splinters. 

It  was  on  the  line  outside  Courcelette  that  they  stopped 
at  last  to  dig  and  gather  their  strength  and  take  breath.  It 
was  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  think,  that  the  ground  behind 
them  was  thoroughly  cleared,  and  that  the  German  defence 
of  the  Sugar  Factory  was  finally  broken  with  the  help  of  the 
Tanks.  There  was  a  conference  between  the  officers,  those 
who  were  still  unwounded.  Men  in  the  ranks  asked  the 
same  question,  and  answered  it.  "Why  not  take  Courcelette 
itself?" 


The  order  and  the  honour  of  the  new  attack  were  given  to 
the  "mop-up"  battalions  behind,  with  the  French  Canadians 
among  them,  who  had  been  advancing  behind  the  assaulting 
troops  as  a  clearing  and  consolidating  force.  The  colonel 
of  the  French  Canadians  tells  the  story.  He  is  a  wiry  man, 
typical  of  his  race,  modest,  bright-eyed,  keeping  a  sense  of 
humour  in  spite  of  all  the  tragedy  of  war,  such  a  man  as 
Chaucer  knew  when  Norman-French  was  spoken  in  English 
fields — "a  very  parfit  gentil  knight." 

He  is  proud  of  his  French  Canadians.  They  had  a  long 
way  to  go  to  get  to  Courcelette.  Nearly  three  and  a  half 
miles  to  the  final  line  given  to  them  on  the  other  side  of  the 
village.     "We're  late,  we're  late,"  said  the  little  colonel. 


334  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

"We  must  get  there  in  time  at  whatever  cost.  French 
Canadians,  forward!" 

They  were  not  too  late.  They  came  up  to  the  first 
assaulting  battalions — those  who  had  dug  in  south  of  the 
village — just  in  time  to  pass  through  them  and  lead  the 
new  attack.  Many  men  had  dropped  on  the  way.  The 
ground  was  still  being  torn  up  by  steel  ploughs.  All  the  air 
was  full  of  the  scream  and  whine  and  crash  of  shells. 
Round  Courcelette  there  was  a  clatter  of  machine-gun  fire 
from  German  hiding  places.  The  garrison  there  was  ready 
for  defence. 

"Allons  done,  mes  enfants!" 

It  is  the  way  in  which  French  officers  lead  their  men  to 
victory  or  to  death. 

The  French  Canadians,  with  their  comrades  on  the  left, 
swung  round  in  a  loop  round  the  southern  half  of  the 
village,  and  closed  in  and  invaded  its  streets.  .  .  .  The 
capture  of  Courcelette  was  one  of  the  astounding  things  in 
this  battle  of  the  Somme.  There  were  1,500  Germans  in  and 
about  it,  and  the  place  was  stormed  by  much  less  than  that 
number.  Dug-outs  full  of  Germans  were  routed  out  by  a 
few  men  who  could  have  been  crushed  and  killed  by  the 
odds  against  them.  One  Canadian  boy  went  down  into  a 
dug-out,  and  after  a  time — what  queer  conversation  could  he 
have  down  there? — came  out  again  with  prisoners.  There 
were  twenty  of  them,  tall,  big  men,  who  could  have  made 
a  meal  off  this  brown-eyed  lad  who  marshalled  them  up. 

Some  of  the  Germans  made  themselves  useful.  A 
wounded  Canadian  officer  captured  five  of  them  before  too 
weak  to  get  back  to  the  dressing-station  unaided.  Speaking 
French  to  them,  which  one  at  least  understood,  he  ordered 
his  prisoners  to  make  a  stretcher  for  him,  enforcing  his 
command  by  keeping  his  revolver  on  them.  From  some 
old  sticks  and  sandbags  they  made  the  stretcher,  and  then 
carried  him  down. 

Two  German  doctors  helped  to  dress  our  wounded,  and 
worked   bravely   and    steadily   under   shell-fire    for   many 


THE  CANADIANS  AT  COURCELETTE       335 

hours.  One  of  them  objected  to  having  a  sentry  put  near 
his  dug-out.  "I  am  not  a  fighting  man,"  he  said.  "I  did 
not  help  to  make  this  war.  My  work  is  for  humanity,  and 
your  wounded  are  the  same  to  me  as  ours,  poor,  suffering 
men,  needing  my  help,  which  I  am  glad  to  give." 


Beyond  the  village  that  night  the  enemy  made  seven  coun- 
ter-attacks upon  the  Canadians.  There  were  moments  when 
even  the  Colonel  thought  that  things  did  not  look  "too 
bright."  But  all  these  assaults  were  beaten  off,  as  the  Cana- 
dians have  beaten  off  other  attacks  yesterday  and  to-day, 
inflicting  heavy  losses  and  gaining  more  ground. 

One  counter-attack  was  repulsed  by  a  handful  of  men 
in  a  way  that  gives  a  grotesque  comedy  to  all  this  night 
scene  of  war  filled  with  so  much  death  and  terror,  and 
human  courage  strong  in  endurance.  A  tot  of  rum  had 
been  served  out  to  each  Canadian  to  give  a  glow  of  warmth 
to  limbs  chilled  in  the  wet  soil  of  shell  craters  and  to  hearts 
chilled  by  the  reaction  which  follows  fierce  excitement.  This 
handful  of  men  were  sitting  in  a  German  dug-out. 

They  laughed,  and  sang,  forgetful  of  the  scenes  about 
them.  It  was  as  jolly  as  in  a  log-cabin  of  the  West,  by  this 
dug-out,  where  a  corpse  lay  very  quiet.  Again  they  shouted, 
and  laughed  more  loudly,  giving  Red  Indian  war-cries,  and 
other  wild  whoops.  And  that  was  when  the  counter-attack 
began. 

It  did  not  get  very  far.  A  body  of  Germans  advancing 
over  No  Man's  Land  to  the  British  lines  suddenly  heard 
frightful,  blood-curdling  sounds.  It  was  as  though  the 
tribes  of  the  Black  feet  had  come  out  upon  the  war-path, 
yelling  as  they  swung  their  tomahawks  and  dancing  round 
the  scalps  of  their  victims.  The  Germans  hated  to  hear 
such  a  noise.  It  was  as  though  all  the  devils  of  hell  were 
upon  them,  laughing  diabolically.  .  .  .  They  turned  and 
fled. 


XXXV 
THE  ABANDONMENT  OF  COMBLES 


I 

September  26 
The  enemy  cannot  stand  against  us  on  his  present  line. 
That  has  been  proved  to-day  and  yesterday  by  sweeping 
British  successes,  which  include  the  capture  of  Gueudecourt, 
Lesbceufs,  Morval  and  Combles,  with  nearly  2,000  prisoners 
(according  to  my  own  reckoning)  and  a  great  mass  of 
material.  The  German  infantry  was  ordered  to  hold  on  to 
these  places  at  all  costs,  to  the  very  death. 

The  enemy  may  pretend  later  that  they  have  made  a 
voluntary  withdrawal  to  "take  up  a  new  and  stronger  line 
of  defence" — that  is  the  usual  convention — but  I  have  talked 
with  their  officers  and  men  and  know  what  their  orders 
were.  They  w-ere  to  fight  for  every  inch  of  soil  against 
us,  and  they  did  not  lack  courage. 

But  our  men  and  our  guns  have  been  too  strong  for  them. 
As  soon  as  we  held  the  high  ridge  from  the  Pozieres  wind- 
mill through  the  old  German  switch  line  below  Martinpuich, 
and  above  High  Wood  and  Ginchy,  their  position  down  the 
slopes  became  untenable  because  of  the  new  observation 
we  had  for  our  artillery. 

One  by  one  their  strongholds  have  fallen,  Courcelette  and 
Martinpuich  and  Flers ;  now  those  other  places,  Gueude- 
court, Lesbceufs  and  Morval.  In  spite  of  all  their  massed 
machine-guns  in  strong  emplacements,  and  all  their  tunnelled 
dug-outs,  and  all  their  stubborn  resistance,  they  could  not 
hold  on  to  a  line  here  under  the  hurricane  of  fire  our  guns 

336 


THE  ABANDONMENT  OF  COMBLES         337 

have  flung  upon  them,  and  the  tide  of  men  who  swept  for- 
ward and  overwhelmed  them. 

Their  defence  began  to  show  signs  of  cracking  when 
they  were  unable  to  force  home  their  repeated  counter- 
attacks by  any  big  general  scheme  of  ofifence. 

It  was  clear  that  our  constant  hammer  strokes,  with  those 
delivered  by  the  French  on  our  right,  had  demoralised  and 
disorganised  them,  and  that  they  were  unable  to  gather 
reserves  from  other  parts  of  the  line  quick  enough  or  big 
enough  to  strike  back  heavily  so  as  to  thwart  our  progress. 
They  had  to  rely  mainly  on  their  gun-power,  and  formidable 
as  that  is  it  has  been  mastered  by  ours  for  the  time  being, 
and  could  not  do  more  than  make  our  advance  costly  to  our 
wonderful  infantry,  who  went  through  its  curtain  fire. 

Even  that  has  weakened  a  little  during  the  past  forty-eight 
hours — our  men  who  come  back  broken  by  it  will  not  think 
so,  poor  fellows — and  the  last  attacks  have  succeeded  with 
far  fewer  casualties  on  our  side  than  ever  before  on  such 
a  day  of  success  in  this  Battle  of  the  Somme.  The  casual- 
ties, indeed,  were  very  light  considering  the  striking  suc- 
cesses gained.  The  enemy  is  in  retreat — not  for  a  great 
distance,  perhaps,  but  certainly  retreating. 


For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  this  war  on  the  western 
front  since  the  Battle  of  the  ]\Iarne  and  the  beginning  of 
trench  warfare  the  enemy  has  been  compelled  to  abandon  a 
town  without  a  fight  in  it.  He  has  withdrawn  from  Com- 
bles,  which  is  a  place  of  some  importance,  and  more  than  a 
mere  village,  and  our  troops  have  entered  it  from  the  north, 
while  the  French  hold  the  southern  half. 

As  soon  as  Morval  was  taken  yesterday,  after  that  won- 
derful assault  upon  the  double  Une  of  trenches  defending 
it,  his  gunners  near  Sailly  Saillisel,  to  the  east,  packed  up 
and  bolted  away.     In  the  night  troops  holding  the  ground 


338  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

between  Morval  and  that  place  have  melted  away,  and  our 
patrols  are  out  there  trying  to  find  out  his  rearguard. 

Between  Gueudecourt  and  Lesboeufs  a  body  of  German 
infantry  tried  to  rally  up  to  a  counter-attack  and  came  for- 
ward a  little  way  with  a  show  of  strength  and  resolution. 

Our  gunners  were  quick  to  get  their  target.  Clouds  of 
shrapnel  burst  over  those  massed  men,  and  their  attack 
turned  into  a  panic-stricken  rout.  They  flung  down  rifles 
and  packs  and  fled  back  towards  Le  Transloy,  leaving  many 
dead  and  wounded  in  their  wake. 

The  worst  thing  that  has  happened  to  the  enemy  is  the 
breaking-up  of  the  moral  of  his  troops.  These  men  have 
been  ordered  to  hold  out  in  death-traps,  and  although  there 
can  be  no  slur  on  their  courage,  for  they  have  fought  well 
and  are  brave  men,  they  have  seen  with  dismal  eyes  that  if 
they  hold  on  longer  they  must  die  or  be  taken. 

As  soon  as  our  men  had  swept  across  the  trenches  and 
the  sunken  roads  where  the  Germans  defended  themselves 
stubbornly  and  entered  the  villages — Morval  being  taken 
from  the  north — the  garrisons  came  up  out  of  their  under- 
ground places  and  surrendered  in  heaps.  They  could  have 
fought  longer  and  harder  here,  perhaps,  but  only  with  their 
backs  to  the  walls  asking  for  death.  They  had  not  the 
spirit  to  do  that  and  no  man  would  expect  it  of  them. 

They  were  done  and  dazed  by  the  appalling  intensity  of 
the  shell-fire  which  we  had  smashed  over  their  tunnels. 
They  were  disheartened  by  the  unfailing  regularity  with 
which  the  British  had  captured  one  stronghold  after  another 
since  July  i,  and  at  last  after  two  years  of  utter  confidence 
in  the  supreme  strength  of  the  German  war-machine,  their 
faith  had  been  destroyed. 

They  have  seen  it  crack  and  break,  leaving  them  as  the 
victims  of  its  failure.  Men  who  have  lost  faith  in  the  one 
idol  to  which  they  had  pledged  their  souls  are  not  so  strong 
as  before.  It  is  this  loss  of  faith  among  her  soldiers  which 
is  the  worst  thing  that  has  happened  to  Germany. 


THE  ABANDONMENT  OF  COMBLES    339 


In  opposition  to  the  faith  which  we  have  now  broken  is 
the  fear  they  have  of  British  troops  whom,  once  upon  a 
time,  they  were  taught  to  despise ;  they  are  stupefied  by  the 
grim  way  in  which  our  men  attack,  reckless  of  loss,  so  that 
no  barrage  stops  them,  and  they  are  amazed  that  men  who 
were  not  soldiers  a  year  ago  should  now  be  equal  to  their 
own  best  troops  in  fighting  skill  as  gunners  and  as  infantry. 

A  German  officer  who  surrendered  to-day  with  a  whole 
company  when  the  British  stormed  their  way  into  Morval 
paid  a  tribute  to  them  when  he  was  taken  prisoner. 

"Your  soldiers,"  he  said,  ''surprise  me  by  their  sangfroid. 
They  were  very  cool  and  calm  in  moments  when  most 
soldiers  would  lose  their  heads." 

He  was  touched,  too,  by  their  kindness  to  him,  puzzled 
by  it,  not  finding  any  kind  of  hatred  in  their  hearts  now  that 
the  fighting  was  over. 

"They  asked  me  whether  I  would  like  to  go  down  at  once 
or  wait  until  the  barrage  eased  ofif.  That  was  very  good- 
natured  of  them.  Then  they  gave  me  'kuchen' — little  cakes 
— and  called  me  'old  boy'  as  though  they  had  known  me 
before." 

They  are  grateful  for  our  treatment  of  them,  and  truly 
some  of  oui"  men  are  chivalrous  in  the  way  they  behave  to 
them  after  the  bloodshed  is  over  and  the  fierce  and  frightful 
things  of  battle. 

There  were  two  fellows  on  the  roadside  to-day,  an  Eng- 
Hsh  soldier  and  a  German,  trudging  side  by  side  to  a  field 
dressing  station.  Both  heads  were  bandaged,  and  one  man 
could  see  out  of  one  eye  and  one  out  of  the  other. 

Said  the  Englishman : 

"This  chap  tried  to  gouge  out  my  eye  with  his  fist,  and 
I  did  the  same  to  his  with  my  elbow,  and  now  we  get  on 
famously  together." 

Two  other  men  came  in — enemies  an  hour  before. 


340  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

"This  is  old  Bill,"  said  the  English  soldier,  pointing  to  a 
wounded  German.  "Where  I  go  Bill  goes.  I  wounded  him 
and  I  took  him.  .  .  .  Come  on,  Bill,  old  son." 

I  saw  1 200  German  prisoners  to-day  just  out  of  the  battle. 
They  lay  in  rows,  grey  body  close  to  grey  body,  so  that 
when  any  stood  and  walked  about  they  had  to  step  care- 
fully over  all  those  lying  men.  They  were  men  from  Morval 
and  Lesboeufs,  and  some  from  Combles,  who  in  the  retreat 
in  the  night  had  mistaken  their  way  out  and  come  into  our 
lines. 

They  were  mostly  strong,  well-built  young  men — better 
than  some  of  those  I  saw  yesterday — and  were  nearly  all 
Prussians  from  the  Rhinelands.  In  the  mass  there  was 
nothing  repulsive  about  them,  though  here  and  there  was 
an  evil-looking  face.  These  fresh-coloured  fellows,  very 
smart  and  soldierly,  and  with  very  little  of  the  dirt  of  war 
upon  them,  as  they  had  been  living  in  the  dug-outs,  stared 
about  them  with  curious  eyes — at  the  British  troops  passing 
and  British  transports,  and  all  the  traffic  that  goes  up  to 
the  battle  lines.  They  were  startled  at  finding  themselves  in 
so  great  a  company  of  fellow-prisoners.  They  confessed 
to  one  of  our  officers  that  it  was  "a  great  British  victory." 

These  men  were  all  unwounded.  But  in  a  tent  not  far 
away,  and  in  other  tents,  were  rows  of  Germans  on  stretch- 
ers, lying  very  still,  and  looking  very  grey,  in  blood-soaked 
clothes.  Some  of  them  were  moaning  their  lives  away,  but 
English  doctors  were  with  them,  attending  to  them  just  in 
the  same  way  as  they  dealt  with  our  wounded  men  carried 
into  other  tents. 

"We  make  no  difference,"  said  the  medical  officer. 

There  Vv^as  a  young  officer  there  whom  I  had  met  yes- 
terday on  the  roadside.  He  sat  up  when  he  saw  me  again, 
and  said  he  wanted  nothing  that  could  be  given  to  him,  and 
was  grateful  for  the  treatment.  He  had  just  been  writing 
down  the  address  of  one  of  his  wounded  comrades,  who  was 
going  to  die,  so  that  he  might  send  a  letter  to  the  man's  wife. 


THE  ABANDONMENT  OF  COMBLES    341 

He  had  been  asked  to  do  this  by  one  of  the  English  doc- 
tors, and  he  was  glad  to  do  it. 

I  sat  down  by  the  side  of  a  young  soldier  from  the  Rhine- 
land. 

"Are  you  badly  wounded?"  I  asked. 

He  pointed  to  his  shoulder,  and  said  "Here." 

When  I  said  he  looked  very  young,  he  shrugged  that 
wounded  shoulder  of  his,  and  said,  "All  my  comrades  were 
young.  We  fought  as  well  as  older  men.  The  English  came 
behind  us,  or  we  would  not  have  been  taken." 

The  pride  of  the  boy  remained  with  him  even  now,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  fine  and  plucky. 

But  these  men,  as  a  whole,  have  none  of  the  braggart 
confidence  of  the  prisoners  we  used  to  take  a  year  ago.  The 
truth,  I  think,  is  beginning  to  dawn  upon  them.  The  guns 
that  protected  them  have  been  matched  by  British  guns,  and 
the  new  army  that  has  grown  up  against  them  has  broken 
their  strongest  lines. 

It  is  only  the  beginning.  People  at  home  must  not  think 
that  the  German  army  has  lost  its  power  of  defence  and 
that  the  great  rout  is  at  hand.  They  are  drawing  back  their 
guns,  but  saving  most  of  them.  They  are  retreating,  but 
will  stand  again,  and  dig  new  trenches  and  defend  other 
villages. 

There  will  be  greater  and  fiercer  and  more  desperate  fight- 
ing before  the  end  comes,  and  God  alone  knows  when  that 
will  be.  But  so  far  as  the  fighting  goes  it  is  a  real  stroke  of 
victory  for  us.  Within  the  last  forty-eight  hours  we  have 
put  out  of  action  eight  German  battalions  between  Lesboeufs 
and  Morval,  and  the  enemy  can  ill  afford  such  loss  after  all 
that  has  happened  since  the  first  day  of  July. 


The  story  of  the  meeting  of  the  French  and  British  in  the 
stronghold  of  Combles  is  an  historic  incident,  which  may 
form  one  day  the  subject  of  a  great  painting,  though  per- 


342  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

haps  no  artist's  eye  was  there  to  see  it.  Some  brigades  of 
English  troops  were  holding  on  Monday  morning,  the 
ground  of  the  Quadrilateral  (where  our  men  had  been 
badly  held  up  on  September  15),  to  the  west  of  Bouleaux 
Wood. 

The  French  were  hammering  forward  with  their  soixante- 
quinze  and  masses  of  splendid  infantry  to  the  east  of  Com- 
bles  in  the  direction  of  Fregicourt.  The  plan  of  attack  was 
to  box  in  Combles  by  the  French  advance  on  one  side,  and 
on  ours  by  forming  a  strong  line  to  the  north-west  of  Com- 
bles. 

The  operation  was  of  great  importance  to  the  whole  of 
our  attack  on  Morval  and  Lesboeufs  on  Monday  morning, 
because,  apart  from  cutting  off  Combles,  the  new  position 
was  needed  as  a  solid  plank  to  our  right  wing. 

The  men  who  were  given  the  task — it  is  sad  that  I  am  not 
yet  able  to  say  who  they  were — ^had  been  fighting  heavily  in 
previous  battles,  and  had  suffered  many  losses.  But  for 
this  new  assault  they  rallied  up  again  with  a  brave  spirit, 
and  did  all  that  was  asked  of  them  and  a  little  more. 

Instead  of  attacking  Bouleaux  Wood  itself,  where  the 
Germans  were  in  great  force,  they  were  ordered  to  take 
two  lines  of  trenches  on  the  west  side  of  it,  and  to  establish 
the  flank  line  there — a  clever  bit  of  strategy  which  a  German 
officer  has  since  complained  of  bitterly  as  "not  playing  the 
game."  Because  at  Bouleaux  Wood  the  Germans  were 
waiting  for  an  attack  and  ready  for  it  with  massed  machine- 
guns,  which  they  could  not  put  to  their  full  use,  poor  lads ! 

The  trenches  were  taken  easily  and  rapidly — in  five  min- 
utes from  the  moment  of  attack — but  nearly  at  right  angles 
to  it  was  an  embankment  with  a  rabbit  warren  of  dug-outs, 
which  gave  more  trouble. 

It  was  the  German  flank  line,  and  enormously  important 
to  the  enemy,  so  that  he  held  it  with  a  large  force  of  men 
and  many  machine-guns  and  minenwerfer. 

Fierce,  savage  fighting  took  place  here,  and  it  was  only 
four  hours  later  that  the  dug-outs  were  finally  cleared. 


THE  ABANDONMENT  OF  COMBLES         343 

Hereabouts  eighty  prisoners  were  taken,  but  a  great  many 
dead  bodies  lay  below  the  embankment  when  the  fight  was 
done. 

Near  by  five  minenwerfer  were  captured,  and  our  men 
found  some  empty  gun  emplacements,  which  had  been  aban- 
doned in  such  a  hurry  by  the  German  gunners  that  they 
had  left  behind  them  a  great  store  of  four-point-two  shells 
and  all  their  ammunition  carriers. 

Our  strong  flank  was  formed  and  a  new  trench  dug  in 
great  style  by  a  pioneer  battalion,  and  then  in  the  darkness 
patrols  of  infantry  pushed  forward  in  the  direction  of 
Combles.  It  was  dark,  yet  not  an  absolute  and  lasting  dark- 
ness. The  sky  was  very  calm  and  strewn  with  bright  stars, 
and  up  above  the  Combles  road  at  Morval  white  flares  went 
up  and  down,  throwing  every  few  moments  a  white,  vivid 
glare  over  the  battlefield,  lighting  up  its  desolation,  with  the 
rim  of  every  shell-crater  white  as  snow  and  with  black  pits 
in  the  depths  of  them. 

The  sky  was  not  quiet  except  high  above  the  strife  of 
men.  Away  down  the  French  lines  it  was  all  on  fire,  and 
shells  were  bursting  in  a  great  semi-circle  where  the  British 
were  fighting  at  Lesbceufs  and  Gueudecourt. 

But  Combles  was  dark  and  quiet.  No  star-shells  came  up 
from  its  ruined  houses.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  there, 
only  a  few  black  shadows  came  up  from  the  town  towards 
our  patrols  and  exchanged  shots  with  them  and  then  tried  to 
escape.  Twenty  of  these  stragglers  were  taken  prisoner. 
Ten  were  killed  in  fights  with  our  patrol  parties. 

Hour  after  hour  there  was  the  tremendous  tattoo  of  the 
French  soixante-quinze  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and  a 
final  outburst  of  gun  and  rifle  fire  when  Fregicourt  was 
taken. 

The  night  was  passing,  but  it  was  long  before  dawn — at 
3.15 — when  a  strong  patrol  of  English  soldiers  with  ma- 
chine-guns advanced  down  a  tramline  into  the  town  of 
Combles.  They  were  tired  men,  worn  with  fighting,  craving 
sleep,  hating  all  this  hell  around  them,  not  in  that  night 


344  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

hour  inspired  by  any  thrill  of  joy  because  they  were  enter- 
ing Combles  "in  triumph."  They  were  not  quite  sure  how 
far  the  beastly  place  had  been  abandoned.  News  had  come 
to  them  that  the  enemy  had  found  a  way  out. 

But  you  never  can  tell.  There  might  be  desperate  fellows 
in  the  cellars,  machine-guns  behind  any  of  these  broken 
walls.  They  went  on  slowly  and  cautiously  until  they 
reached  the  ruined  streets. 

Dead  men  lay  about,  with  white  faces  turned  upwards  to 
the  stars.  The  ground  was  littered  with  broken  bricks  and 
twisted  iron  and  destroyed  wagons.  But  no  shot  came 
through  the  gaping  holes  in  houses  which  still  stood  as  roof- 
less shells.  It  was  all  as  quiet  and  still  as  death.  A  halt 
was  made  at  the  railway  line,  and  then  our  tired  men  saw 
through  the  gloom  other  tired  figures  trudging  towards 
them. 

Officers  went  forward.  Words  were  spoken  in  French 
and  English: 

"Ce  sont  les  Anglais." 

"Them's  the  French  all  right." 

"The  blooming  town's  abandoned." 

"Les  sacres  Boches  n'existent  plus!" 

Combles  was  taken  thus  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  before  yesterday  without  any  demonstration 
or  dramatic  ceremony,  without  cheers  or  theatrical  nonsense, 
by  grim,  quiet,  tired  men  who  were  glad  to  be  at  the  end 
of  another  day's  fighting,  with  a  dog's  chance  of  rest. 

It  was  a  great  place  for  booty.  The  cellars  were  stacked 
with  thousands  of  rifles  and  a  great  store  of  ammunition. 
The  enemy  had  left  behind  four  thousand  rounds  of  five- 
point-nine  shells — the  less  to  fire  at  us,  thank  God ! — and  a 
mass  of  material  and  kit  of  every  kind. 

This  flight  from  Combles  is  the  most  ignominious  thing 
that  has  happened  to  the  enemy  on  the  Western  front  since 
he  was  hammered  back  on  the  Marne,  and  it  must  have  hurt 
his  pride — the  pride  of  his  "High  Command" — as  a  smart- 
ing wound. 


XXXVI 
THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL 


I 

September  2^ 
The  doom  of  Thiepval  is  fulfilled.  That  place  upon  the 
high  ridge,  with  its  thirty-four  black  tree-stumps — I  counted 
them  this  morning — which  has  been  harrowed  and  ploughed 
and  cralered  under  incessant  storms  of  high  explosive,  fell 
into  our  hands  last  evening — all  but  one  corner  to  the  north- 
west, which  is  ours  to-day. 

Weeks  ago  I  said — as  it  may  be  remembered — that  the 
German  garrison  there  must  have  known  that  their  doom 
was  creeping  nearer,  and  that  sooner  or  later  they  must 
surrender  or  die. 

It  was  longer  reaching  them  than  I  expected  when  I 
watched  the  attack  on  the  Zollern  trench,  and  the  defences 
running  up  to  the  Wunderwerk,  and  saw  our  men  crossing 
a  wide  stretch  of  No  Man's  Land  through  great  shell-fire 
which  tossed  up  the  earth  about  them,  and  go  on  until  those 
who  had  not  fallen  leapt  upon  the  German  trenches  and 
bundled  back  batches  of  prisoners,  and  then  went  on  again 
until  they  were  very  near  to  the  row  of  apple  trees  which 
used  to  blossom  in  April  on  the  outskirts  of  Thiepval  town 
perched  upon  the  hill. 

It  seemed  to  me  then,  watching  the  rapid  progress  of  our 
men  and  their  wonderful  courage,  that  in  a  few  days  more 
from  the  Wunderwerk  and  Mouquet  Farm  on  the  east  side 
our  lines  would  close  in  and  put  the  strangle-grip  upon  the 
place. 

It  has  taken  longer  than  that,  more  storms  of  shells,  more 

345 


346  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

splendid  lives,  to  win  the  stronghold,  and  the  wonder  to  me 
is,  now  that  I  know  the  full  strength  of  the  place,  the 
resistance  of  its  underground  fortifications,  and  the  fighting 
spirit  of  the  troops  holding  it,  that  we  captured  it  yesterday 
and  to-day  with  such  little  loss. 

For  our  loss  was  amazingly  light  considering  the  long  and 
stubborn  fighting  there  and  the  machine-gun  fire  which 
swept  upon  our  men  from  many  hidden  places,  and  the 
desperation  of  the  garrison  who  defended  themselves  with 
great  gallantry.  Let  us  give  them  the  honour  of  saying  that, 
for  they  were  fine  fighting  men. 

In  defence  the  advantage  was  all  with  them.  But  for  the 
power  of  our  guns  and  the  way  in  which  British  troops 
fight — meaning  to  win  whatever  the  cost — they  were  in  an 
impregnable  position.  The  taking  of  Mouquet  Farm  by  the 
Australians  and  afterwards  by  the  Canadians  was  the  worst 
menace  to  them,  enclosing  them  on  the  right,  but  an  as- 
tounding episode  which  happened  yesterday  will  show  most 
clearly  the  difficulties  of  our  troops  and  the  cunning  of  the 
enemy's  earthworks. 


It  is  many  days  since  I  reported  the  final  capture  of  Mou- 
quet Farm,  after  in  and  out  fighting,  and  since  I  saw  its 
ruins  from  the  high  ridge. 

These  bits  of  broken  brickwork,  all  that  was  left  after 
the  Australians  had  made  it  their  own,  were  the  remnants 
of  a  place  more  important  once  than  an  ordinary  French 
farmstead. 

It  was  a  series  of  buildings  such  as  one  finds  in  France 
attached  to  a  big  chateau,  with  barns  and  out-houses  and 
stables,  or  to  an  old  monastic  institution,  covering  a  large 
space  of  ground. 

Our  last  line  of  trenches  struck  through  the  middle  of 
the  place,  leaving  two  bits  of  ruin  to  the  north  of  the  trench 
and  one  to  the  south,  behind  the  line.    The  enemy  seemed 


THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL  347 

to  be  well  away  northwards  in  the  shell-craters  beyond  our 
parapet,  and  nobody  suspected  "Brother  Boche"  near  at 
hand. 

It  was  with  great  surprise  a  few  days  ago  that  one  of  our 
English  officers  saw  two  Germans  rise  suddenly  from  a  hole 
behind  our  line,  near  the  southern  ruin  of  bricks. 

One  of  them  beckoned  to  him.  "Be  careful,  sir,"  said  the 
sentry.  But  the  officer  imagined  that  the  two  Germans  had 
strayed  into  our  lines  and  wanted  to  be  taken  prisoner,  as 
some  do  from  time  to  time. 

He  went  forward  slowly  until  he  was  quite  close  to  them. 
Then  he  fell  dead,  shot  by  the  man  who  had  beckoned  to 
him,  who  with  his  comrade  disappeared  immediately  into 
some  hole  which  could  not  be  found. 

A  day  or  two  later  a  working  party  digging  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood broke  through  to  a  deep  tunnel.  Instead  of 
searching  it  there  and  then  they  filled  it  up  again.  Our  men 
found  themselves  being  sniped  from  other  holes  in  the 
ground.  It  came  into  the  heads  of  our  officers  that  beneath 
the  ground,  even  behind  our  lines,  were  nests  of  Germans 
who  might  turn  upon  them  at  any  moment,  or  blow  them  up 
by  a  charge  of  guncotton. 

Orders  were  given  to  draw  back  a  little  from  Mouquet 
Farm,  and  the  guns  were  turned  on  it  again,  flinging  high 
explosives  and  shrapnel  over  the  place,  as  in  the  old  days. 
Then  some  of  our  men  were  sent  forward  to  clear  the 
trenches,  if  they  could  find  them.  They  came  back  without 
success.  So  the  place  remained  one  of  our  "mystery  cor- 
ners" until  yesterday,  when  the  attack  was  to  begin  on 
Thiepval,  from  the  trenches  south,  and  swinging  left  from 
Mouquet.  It  was  dangerous,  but  it  was  decided  to  carry  out 
the  attack  without  worrying  about  the  underground  inhabi- 
tants. 

The  attack  on  Thiepval  began,  and  instantly  our  men  on 
the  right  had  advanced  beyond  the  farm  to  the  Zollern 
trench  parties  of  grey-coats  came  out  of  the  tunnels  of  Mou- 


S48  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

quet  and  began  firing  machine-guns  into  the  backs  of  the 
British  soldiers. 

By  good  luck  there  was  a  young  British  officer  not  far 
away  who  kept  his  head  on  his  shoulders,  and  had  a  quick 
way  of  dealing  with  a  situation  of  this  kind.  He  was  in 
charge  of  a  working  party,  but  he  saw  his  chance  of  a 
"scrap."  "Come  on,  boys!"  he  shouted.  "Never  mind 
your  shovels."  His  men  threw  down  their  tools  and  fol- 
lowed him. 

I  don't  know  how  many  there  were  of  them,  but  only 
thirteen  came  back.  They  did  not  come  back  ingloriously. 
They  brought  with  them  one  German  officer  and  fifty-five 
men  as  prisoners,  and  there  were  no  living  men  left  at  six 
o'clock  last  night  in  the  tunnels  of  Mouquet. 

It  was  only  a  small  episode  in  the  rear  of  the  assault  on 
Thiepval,  but  extraordinary,  and  not  without  importance, 
on  the  right  wing  of  our  advance,  for  men  do  not  like  to 
go  forward  with  machine-gun  fire  from  behind.  It  shows 
the  way  in  which  the  ground  all  about  here  has  been  used 
for  subterranean  fighting. 


So  it  was  in  Thiepval.  Above  ground  there  was  nothing 
to  see  to-day,  and  for  a  long  time,  but  the  black  and  broken 
tree-trunks  with  their  lopped  branches  high  above  Thiepval 
Wood,  which  is  just  as  utterly  destroyed — those  bare  poles, 
and  to  the  left  a  mass  of  reddish  brickwork  which  was 
once  Thiepval  chateau,  and,  standing  solitary,  a  queer- 
shaped  monster,  looking  like  a  sleeping  megatherium,  which 
I  recognised  as  an  old  Tank  on  the  warpath. 

No  men  could  have  remained  alive  above  ground  yester- 
day when  our  guns  hurled  upon  it  a  stream  of  heavy  shells 
which  burst  all  over  the  site  of  the  village  with  violent 
upheavals  of  earth  and  vast  clouds  of  curly  black  smoke 
filled  with  death. 

The  German  garrison  kept  below,  in  a  long  series  of 


THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL  349 

vaults  and  tunnels  which  they  had  strengthened  and  linked 
up,  and  dug  deeper,  in  a  way  that  would  have  surprised  the 
old  French  farmers  who  used  to  keep  their  wine  and  stores 
down  there  centuries  ago.  They  had  made  many  exits,  so 
that  they  could  pop  up  with  rifles  and  machine-guns  at  many 
spots  between  the  four  corners  of  the  village,  and  they  were 
ready  for  another  British  attack. 

I  know  these  things  because  I  have  been  talking  with  the 
German  survivors  of  the  garrison.  They  were  nearly  all 
men  of  the  i8oth  Regiment,  and  they  have  held  Thiepval 
for  two  years. 

"In  the  old  days,"  said  one  of  them  this  morning — he 
talked  very  frankly  to  me  in  excellent  French — "the  place 
was  quiet  and  happy.  We  had  no  great  comfort  below 
ground,  no  fancy  furniture  or  fine  decorations  (our  beds 
were  just  wooden  planks  raised  above  the  ground)  ;  but  we 
worked  hard  to  fortify  the  vaults.  We  pierced  many  new 
tunnels.  We  made  this  underground  world  perfectly  safe, 
and  we  were  proud  of  it." 

It  belonged  so  much  to  the  i8oth  Regiment  that  instead 
of  being  relieved  in  the  ordinary  way  like  other  troops,  and 
sent  off  to  different  parts  of  the  front,  they  were  given  the 
honour  of  defending  Thiepval  since  the  beginning  of  the 
Battle  of  the  Somme.  The  regiment  arranged  its  own  re- 
liefs company  by  company,  Bapaume  being  their  rest 
camp.  The  men  I  met  to-day  had  been  actually  in  Thiepval 
only  seven  days,  without  relief,  and  had  guessed  that  it 
would  be  their  turn  to  defend  the  place  against  a  great  Eng- 
lish assault.  They  had  pledged  themselves  to  defend  it  to 
the  death. 

Before  telling  the  narrative  of  our  attack  and  the  adven- 
tures of  our  own  men  I  think  it  is  interesting  to  give  this 
glimpse  of  the  defenders,  of  their  life  underground.  When 
I  talked  with  them  this  morning  they  had  just  been  cap- 
tured. I  was  struck  by  the  superior  bearing  and  intelligence 
of  them  all. 

They  were  certainly  the  best  type  of  Germans  I  have  seen 


860  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

on  this  front — Wurttembergers  all,  and  handsome  fellows, 
who  had  kept  their  spirit — one  of  the  last  groups  of  men 
who  fought  against  us  in  the  early  days,  and  survivors  of 
the  first-line  troops  of  the  German  army  who  have  fallen  like 
autumn  leaves  upon  the  battlefields  of  Europe,  in  the  endless 
massacre  of  this  war. 

They  are  weary  of  the  war,  like  all  their  troops.  They 
laughed  when  I  asked  "Will  England  win?"  and  would  not 
pretend  that  Germany  is  still  victorious.  They  had  heard 
of  the  downfall  of  the  two  Zeppelins  in  England,  "Kaput," 
as  they  called  it,  and  had  all  the  news  that  is  given  to  Ger- 
man people  by  the  newspapers  which  they  had  every  day — 
even  yesterday! — in  their  underground  dwelling-place  at 
Thiepval.     But  they  were  not  dupes  of  false  news. 

"Do  you  believe  the  British  Fleet  is  destroyed?"  I  asked, 
testing  them.  "The  English  Fleet  is  too  great  to  be  de- 
stroyed," they  said.  "We  did  not  believe  all  those  stories. 
But  we  gave  you  a  good  fight  at  sea." 

They  gave  us  a  good  fight  on  land,  and  underground,  this 
garrison  of  Thiepval,  and  with  a  few  exceptions  they  fought 
honourably,  so  that  our  men  have  no  grudge  against  them 
now  that  they  are  prisoners  of  war. 


Our  attack  began  yesterday  at  half -past  twelve  after  a 
great  bombardment  that  had  been  continuous  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  rising  to  infernal  heights  of  shell-fire.  Our  men 
leapt  out  of  their  trenches  to  the  south  of  the  trees,  just 
north  of  the  "Wunderwerk,"  and  advanced  in  waves  up  to 
the  trench  by  the  row  of  apple  trees,  the  right  wing  swinging 
round,  as  I  have  said,  from  Mouquet. 

It  was  on  the  left  that  the  men  had  the  hardest  time. 
One  battalion  leading  the  assault  had  to  advance  directly 
upon  the  chateau,  that  heap  of  red  rubbish,  and  from  cellars 
beneath  it  came  waves  of  savage  machine-gun  fire.    They 


THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL  351. 

were  also  raked  by  an  enfilade  fire  of  machine-guns  from  the 
left  top  corner  of  the  ground  where  the  village  once  stood. 

Our  men  were  astounded. 

"I  didn't  believe  it  possible,"  said  one  of  them,  "that  any 
living  soul  could  be  there  after  all  that  shell-fire.  But 
blessed  as  soon  as  it  switched  off  if  the  Germans  didn't  come 
up  like  rabbits  out  of  bunnyholes  and  fire  most  hellishly." 

For  a  long  time  it  was  impossible  to  get  near  the  chateau 
or  take  a  trench  dug  in  front  of  it.  It  was  a  chateau  once 
belonging  to  a  German.  French  gossip  said  that  he  had 
tunnelled  it  for  such  a  defence  as  that  of  yesterday,  which 
is  a  fantastic  tale,  but  its  cellars  stood  now,  and  were  a 
strong  place  from  which  one  party  of  the  garrison  poured 
out  a  stream  of  lead. 

"Where  are  the  old  Tanks?"  shouted  our  men,  and  stared 
back  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them. 

It  is  splendid  to  see  the  smiles  spreading  over  our  men's 
faces  every  time  they  talk  of  the  Tank.  Whatever  their 
sufferings  have  been  they  cheer  up  and  laugh  in  a  comical 
way  at  this  thought,  for  the  Tank  is  a  wonderfully  fine  tonic 
to  the  spirits  of  our  men  and  an  outrageous  comedy  thrust- 
ing a  blunt  nose  into  the  grim  business  of  this  fighting. 

A  Tank  had  been  coming  along  slowly  in  a  lumbering 
way,  crawling  over  the  interminable  succession  of  shell- 
craters,  lurching  over  and  down  into  and  out  of  old  Ger- 
man trenches,  nosing  heavily  into  soft  earth,  and  grunting 
up  again,  and  sitting  poised  on  broken  parapets  as  though 
quite  winded  by  this  exercise,  and  then  waddling  forward 
in  the  wake  of  the  infantry.  Then  it  faced  the  ruins  of  the 
chateau,  and  stared  at  them  very  steadily  for  quite  a  long 
time,  as  though  wondering  whether  it  should  eat  them  or 
crush  them.  Our  men  were  hiding  behind  ridges  of  shell- 
craters,  keeping  low  from  the  swish  of  machine-gun  bullets, 
and  imploring  the  Tank  to  "get  on  with  it." 

Then  it  moved  forward,  in  a  monstrous  way,  not  swerv- 
ing much  to  the  left  or  right,  but  heaving  itself  on  jerkily, 
like  a  dragon  with  indigestion,  but  very  fierce.    Fire  leapt 


352  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

from  its  nostrils.  The  German  machine-guns  splashed  its 
sides  with  bullets,  which  ricocheted  off.  Not  all  those  bul- 
lets kept  it  back.  It  got  on  top  of  the  enemy's  trench, 
trudged  down  the  length  of  it,  laying  its  sandbags  flat  and 
sweeping  it  with  fire. 

The  Germian  machine-guns  were  silent,  and  when  our  men 
followed  the  Tank,  shouting  and  cheering,  they  found  a 
few  German  gunners  standing  with  their  hands  up  as  a  sign 
of  surrender  to  the  monster  who  had  come  upon  them. 

"We  couldn't  have  faced  the  chateau  without  the  help  of 
the  old  Tank,"  said  several  men.  "It  didn't  care  a  damn  for 
machine-guns.     It  did  them  in  properly." 

Unfortunately  the  great  grasshopper  got  into  trouble  with 
some  part  of  its  mysterious  anatomy,  and  had  to  rest  before 
crawling  home  to  its  lair,  so  that  the  rest  of  the  fighting  in 
Thiepval  was  without  this  powerful  support,  and  our  in- 
fantry faced  many  other  machine-guns  alone. 


I  suppose  only  Ovillers  can  rank  with  Thiepval  for  long 
and  close  fighting.  Our  men  had  to  tackle  an  underground 
foe,  who  fired  at  them  out  of  holes  and  crevices  while  they 
remained  hidden. 

They  had  to  burrow  for  them,  dive  down  into  dark- 
entries,  fight  in  tunnels,  get  their  hands  about  the  throats  of 
men  who  suddenly  sprang  up  to  them  out  of  the  earth. 

"I  went  down  into  some  of  those  deep  dug-outs,"  said  one 
boy,  "but  ran  back  again  every  time  I  saw  Germans  there. 
Some  of  them  wanted  to  surrender,  but  how  did  I  know  if 
they  wouldn't  have  killed  me  ?  And  other  chaps  were  com- 
ing along  with  bombs.  As  likely  as  not  I  should  have  been 
done  in  by  our  own  lads.  It  was  very  difficult  to  know  how 
to  handle  'em,  and  up  above  we  were  being  raked  by  rifles 
and  machine-guns  something  frightful." 

Many  of  the  deep  dug-outs  were  blown  in  at  the  entrances, 


THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL  353 

so  that  the  men  were  forced  to  come  up  the  other  side. 
Our  men  smoked  them  out,  and  dug  holes  for  them  to  tease 
them  out.  It  was  Hke  rat-hunting,  but  dangerous  rats,  Hfe- 
size,  and  often  desperate.  They  surrendered  in  hundreds 
when  our  men  were  all  round  them  and  right  down  in  their 
tunnels. 

I  cannot  tell  the  number  of  the  German  garrison.  Nine 
hundred  and  ninety-eight  unwounded  men  and  forty 
wounded  were  brought  down  safely  as  prisoners,  but  others 
were  killed  on  the  way  by  their  own  barrage,  and  many 
fought  until  they  died,  so  that  some  of  the  dug-outs  are  filled 
with  dead  and  many  lie  above  in  the  shell-craters.  In  one 
case  a  party  of  sixteen  prisoners  behaved  treacherously. 

They  turned  on  the  escort  of  two  English  soldiers  taking 
them  down,  wounded  them,  and  tried  to  go  back  to  fight. 
They  had  no  mercy  from  other  English  soldiers  who  came 
up  at  this  moment.  All  through  the  night  and  early  this 
morning  the  last  remnant  of  the  garrison  held  out  in  the 
north-west  comer  of  Thiepval,  until  they  were  swept  into 
the  net  by  a  separate  and  gallant  assault  of  South  Country 
troops. 

Later  in  the  morning  the  enemy  attempted  a  counter- 
attack after  a  tremendous  barrage  which  I  watched  falling 
along  the  ridge  and  below  in  Thiepval  Wood.  Very-lights 
rose  through  all  this  smoke,  and  I  saw  our  men  signalling 
for  the  help  of  our  guns. 

The  help  came  quickly,  and  a  new  storm  of  white  and 
black  smoke-clouds  rent  by  little  flashes  of  flame  burst  be- 
yond the  village  on  to  the  German  positions  in  and  beyond 
the  cemetery. 

It  was  queer  that  this  seemed  to  silence  the  enemy's  guns, 
for  after  this  Thiepval  was  quiet  for  a  time,  and  our  men 
came  poking  about  in  the  open  as  though  looking  for  sou- 
venirs, and  dug  new  holes  down  into  the  tunnels. 

They  seemed  to  be  teasing  out  more  prisoners,  because  I 
saw  trails  of  smoke  rising  from  those  holes  in  the  earth, 


354  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

and  one  black  volume  gushed  out  of  a  cavern  mouth  made 
through  the  heap  of  red  rubbish  which  was  once  the  chateau. 


I  have  no  space  or  time  to  deal  with  many  events  on  other 
parts  of  the  line,  but  everywhere  the  enemy  is  harassed,  and 
his  troops  do  not  seem  able  yet  to  rally  up  to  strong  counter- 
attacks. In  many  parts  of  the  line  patrols  find  it  difficult  to 
locate  the  enemy,  and  No  Man's  Land  is  widening  out.  His 
guns  were  active  to-day  along  all  the  line,  shelling  Combles 
now  and  then,  and  Morval  heavily,  but  even  his  gun-power 
seems  to  be  weakening  here  and  there,  and  it  is  likely  that 
he  is  shifting  some  of  his  batteries. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  Tank  adventures  was  in  the 
direction  of  Gueudecourt  where  our  troops  were  held  up 
yesterday  in  the  usual  way,  that  is  to  say  by  the  raking  fire 
of  machine-guns.  They  made  two  attacks,  but  could  not 
get  beyond  that  screen  of  bullets. 

Then  a  Tank  strolled  along,  rolled  over  the  trench,  with 
fire  flashing  from  its  flanks,  and  delivered  it  into  the  hands 
of  the  infantry  with  nearly  400  prisoners,  who  waved  white 
flags  above  the  parapet.  That  was  not  all.  The  Tank,  ex- 
hilarated by  this  success,  went  lolloping  along  the  way  in 
search  of  new  adventures.  It  went  quite  alone,  and  only 
stopped  for  minor  repairs  when  it  was  surrounded  by  a 
horde  of  German  soldiers.  These  men  closed  upon  it,  with 
great  pluck,  for  it  was  firing  in  a  most  deadly  way,  and  tried 
to  kill  it. 

They  flung  bombs  at  it,  clambered  on  to  its  back,  and  tried 
to  smash  it  with  the  butt-ends  of  rifles,  jabbed  it  with  bayo- 
nets, fired  revolvers  and  rifles  at  it,  and  made  a  wild  pande- 
monium about  it. 

Then  our  infantry  arrived,  attracted  by  the  tumult  of  this 
scene,  and  drove  the  enemy  back.  But  the  Tank  had  done 
deadly  work,  and  between  200  and  300  killed  and  wounded 


THE  DOOM  OF  THIEPVAL  355 

Germans  lay  about  its  ungainly  carcass.  For  a  little  while 
it  seemed  that  the  Tank  also  was  out  of  action,  but  after  a 
little  attention  and  a  good  deal  of  grinding  and  grunting,  it 
heaved  itself  up  and  waddled  away. 

These  things  sound  incredible.  .  .  .  They  are  true.  And 
though  I  write  them  in  fantastic  style  because  that  is  really 
the  nature  of  the  thing,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  these 
Tanks  are  terrible  engines  of  war,  doing  most  grim  work, 
and  that  the  men  inside  are  taking  high  risks  with  astonish- 
ing courage. 

They  are  of  the  same  breed  as  those  flying  men  of  ours 
who  to-day  and  yesterday  flew  in  flocks  over  and  beyond 
Thiepval  "ridiculously  low  down,"  as  one  of  our  officers 
observed,  swooping  down  like  hawks  over  German  batteries 
so  that  they  did  not  dare  to  fire.  All  our  soldiers  are  fighting 
with  a  spirit  beyond  the  normal  laws  of  human  nature. 
They  are  fighting  for  a  quick  finish — if  that  may  be  had 
by  courage — to  this  most  infamous  and  vile  war. 


XXXVII 
NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL 


I 

September  28 
The  weather  is  still  in  our  favour — and  soldiers  watch  the 
weather  like  seamen  in  frail  craft,  knowing  that  two  days 
of  heavy  rain,  or  less  than  that,  may  make  a  month's  differ- 
ence in  the  progress  of  attack,  and  that  when  mist  gathers 
over  the  hills  airmen  cannot  see  to  report  to  the  guns,  and 
guns  cannot  shoot  on  certain  targets,  and  enemy  troops  may 
come  creeping  up  to  a  counter-attack. 

One  of  his  battalions  was  spotted  by  our  airmen  to-day, 
and  our  artillery  found  the  range  quickly  and  scattered 
them.  It  puts  them  into  the  same  villainous  plight  as  our 
men  have  had  to  endure  under  the  brow  of  the  Messines 
and  Wyghtschaete  ridges  and  other  high  ground  from  which 
the  enemy  could  see  the  slightest  movement  of  our  troops 
and  would  snipe  even  a  solitary  wagon  with  shell-fire. 

The  tables  are  turned  down  here  by  the  Somme  and  the 
Ancre.  The  German  soldiers  will  know  now  the  devilish 
torture  of  living  always  under  hostile  observation,  and 
under  great  guns.  They  are  already  beginning  to  find  it 
intolerable,  not  "sticking"  it  as  our  men  "stuck"  it  in  the 
salient,  when  we  had  hardly  any  guns  to  answer  back. 

A  further  gain  of  ground  was  made  yesterday  on  the 
high  ridge  where  Thiepval  stood  when  our  men  captured  a 
strong  line  of  trenches  known  as  the  Stuff  Redoubt,  and 
again  to-day  when  they  advanced  northwards  from  the 
black  trees  of  Thiepval  to  the  Schwaben  Redoubt,  which  is 
on  the  edge  of  the  plateau. 

356 


NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL  357 

This  attack  at  midday  to-day  was  similar  to  other  opera- 
tions which  I  have  described  on  this  part  of  the  front  before. 
A  large  number  of  batteries  concentrated  intense,  violent  fire 
upon  the  position  beyond  the  last  blighted  trees  on  the  ridge 
and  on  the  upheaved  lines  of  soil,  of  white  chalk  and  brown 
earth,  which  marked  the  enemy's  next  defensive  system. 

Our  heavy  shells  tore  up  the  ground,  opening  great 
chasms  and  raising  hell  fires,  until  all  the  blue  of  the  sky 
was  hidden  behind  heavy  spreading  smoke,  gushing  up  in 
round,  dense  masses  which  mingled  and  thickened  the  over- 
hanging pall. 

Then  our  guns  lengthened  their  range,  and  our  infantry 
trudged  across  through  this  fog  and  under  the  wild  scream 
of  shells  flimg  beyond  them,  and  fought  their  way  down 
into  the  enemy's  ditches.  Later,  after  signals  of  distressj 
the  German  gunners  barraged  the  line  of  the  Schwaben  Re- 
doubt, which  seemed  to  prove  the  successful  advance  of  our 
men,  and  ranged  their  heavies  on  to  Thiepval  itself  as  we 
did  until  the  day  before  yesterday,  when  it  changed  hands. 

The  industry  of  the  men  who  lived  there  first — that  i8oth 
regiment  which  has  held  Thiepval  for  two  years — is  now  of 
use  to  our  own  soldiers,  who  can  find  ample  and  shell-proof 
cover  in  those  underground  rooms,  one  of  them,  at  least, 
large  enough  to  hold  three  companies  of  men. 

I  am  not  certain  at  this  hour  whether  we  hold  the  whole 
of  the  Schwaben  Redoubt,  but  if  not  all,  the  rest  will  be 
taken  quickly,  and  the  whole  of  the  high  pleateau  will  be 
ours  from  Thiepval  to  Ginchy  old  telegraph. 

Meanwhile  on  the  right  we  hold  a  firm  straight  line,  down 
from  Gueudecourt  to  Combles,  and  it  forms  a  solid  flank. 


2 

September  30 
It  is  here  beyond  Thiepval  that  the  slaughter  of  men  is 
greatest   just   now — the   scene   of   the    shambles    changes 
quickly  these  days — and  here  that  the  enemy  is  sacrificing 


358  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

many  more  lives  in  the  vain  hope  of  driving  our  men  back 
from  the  underground  fortress  and  its  surrounding  re- 
doubts. 

Desperate  German  counter-attacks  were  made  last  night 
and  this  morning  on  the  Schwaben  Redoubt,  just  north  of 
Thiepval,  and  on  the  Hessian  Redoubt,  further  east,  where 
the  German  troops  hold  out  in  a  wedge  made  by  a  sunken 
road  from  Grandcourt. 

I  have  not  often  heard  such  a  menace  in  the  sound  of 
gun-fire  as  when  I  went  to  an  artillery  O.P.  in  this  direction 
this  morning.  There  was  something  in  the  atmosphere  as 
well  as  in  the  intensity  of  the  bombardment  which  made 
the  shell-bursts — they  were  German  crumps — thunder  out 
in  a  queer,  hollow,  reverberating  way. 

The  enemy  had  concentrated  a  heavy  weight  of  metal  on 
to  our  lines  here  (so  recently  his  own),  and  I  watched  these 
high  explosives  vomiting  up  from  the  Thiepval  ridge,  just 
below  the  Schwaben  Redoubt,  with  a  great  hope  that  our 
men  holding  out  there  might  have  found  good  cover  in  old 
German  dug-outs. 

That  is  one  advantage  gained  in  capturing  these  strong- 
holds. The  enemy's  industry  through  two  years  of  trench 
warfare  may  be  turned  to  our  own  good  and  safety.  In 
Thiepval  itself  many  of  the  elaborate  underground  chambers 
have  now  been  found,  though  when  our  men  first  won  the 
place,  after  all  their  hard  hand-to-hand  fighting  with  the 
garrison  they  could  not  get  to  cover  at  once. 

A  major  belonging  to  one  of  the  battalions  who  came  up 
first  behind  the  assaulting  troops — New  Army  men  who 
fought  like  the  old  Regulars,  though  many  of  them  were 
quite  new  to  this  fortress  fighting — tells  me  that  the  entry 
into  Thiepval  was  the  most  devilish  experience  he  has  had, 
though  he  has  been  through  other  frightful  "shows." 

A  dug-out  next  to  a  hole  in  which  he  had  made  his  tem- 
porary headquarters  was  blown  up  with  sixteen  men,  and 
when  he  moved  on  beyond  the  chateau — a  fine  name  for 
the  only  rubbish  heap  which  marked  the  site  of  a  town — he 


NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL  359 

found  the  headquarters  of  the  leading  battaHon  "sitting  on 
red  bricks"  in  the  midst  of  dead  men. 

By  that  tim.e  his  colonel  and  adjutant  had  been  badly- 
wounded,  and  the  major  arrived  with  only  three  runners, 
surprised  to  see  the  CO.  of  the  other  battalion  standing 
up  on  the  brick  heap  waving  his  stick  and  rallying  his  men. 

It  is  not  really  surprising.  I  met  that  officer  to-day,  and 
I  saw  the  ice-cold  fervour  of  the  man,  the  quiet  determina- 
tion of  his  character,  utterly  scornful  of  any  kind  of  danger. 
Men  would  follow  such  a  man  into  furnace  fires — and  did. 

The  enemy  was  six  hours  before  he  began  to  get  his  bar- 
rage fixed  (before  then  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  his  own 
soldiers'  whereabouts)  and  it  was  colossal  when  it  came. 
Many  of  our  men  lay  about  wounded.  It  was  difficult  to 
get  them  into  safety. 

The  medical  officer  of  one  of  the  battalions  lost  his 
stretcher-bearers  and  went  up  alone  to  do  what  he  could, 
dodging  great  shells,  binding  up  the  wounds  of  men. 

For  a  time  a  Tank  gave  valuable  cover.  It  had  heaved 
itself  across  a  trench,  enfilading  it  each  side  with  deadly  fire. 
Underneath  its  body  there  was  good  shelter,  and  the  M.O. 
worked  here  for  a  while  with  a  heap  of  wounded. 

The  fighting  on  the  north-east  of  Thiepval  is  in  a  land 
of  shell-craters.  Most  of  the  trenches  are  just  linked  shell- 
craters,  into  which  men  burrow  as  soon  as  they  have  rushed 
the  ground,  getting  a  little  cover  in  their  depths  from  the 
barrage  which  searches  them  out. 

The  Hessian  trench  has  changed  hands  several  times  with- 
in the  last  forty-eight  hours,  after  savage  bomb-fights  and 
bayonet  work.  Forty  Germans  have  been  brought  in  from 
one  bit  of  ground,  but  it  is  not  country  in  which  prisoners 
are  gathered  in  great  numbers.  It  is  difficult  to  know  one's 
own  whereabouts. 

There  are  single  combats  over  the  rim  of  a  shell-hole. 
Men  knock  up  against  each  other  in  the  dark,  and  peer  into 
each  other's  faces  to  know  if  it  is  friend  or  foe.    If  friend 


360  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

they  drop  into  a  shell-hole  together;  if  foe,  fight  till  one  is 
dead. 


Queer  things  happen  in  shell-crater  land,  as  when  a  Cana- 
dian officer  brought  up  the  rum  ration  for  his  men,  and 
found  himself  in  a  ditch  with  a  number  of  German  wounded. 
They  were  lying  in  a  row,  in  a  tragic  state. 

What  was  the  officer  to  do?  He  was  puzzled,  but  de- 
cided to  give  the  rum  to  these  poor  suffering  devils,  who 
were  grateful  for  it. 

In  the  Hessian  trench  or  in  a  twist  of  the  crater-land 
about  it,  two  German  officers  and  twenty-two  men  came 
down  across  the  holes.  They  were  met  by  a  private  soldier, 
who  was  surprised  to  see  them.  He  emptied  his  revolver 
at  them,  shooting  one  of  them. 

Then  he  picked  up  a  German  rifle  and  fired  that  and  killed 
another.  A  second  time  he  stopped  and  grasped  a  German 
rifle  at  his  feet,  and  killed  a  third  man.  The  others  ran. 
Our  man  ran  after  them. 

It  was  a  chase  along  a  dirty  ditch  which  had  once  been 
a  trench,  and  the  hunter  was  a  dead  shot,  with  abandoned 
rifles,  all  along  the  way.  At  the  end  of  the  hunt  there  was 
only  one  German  unwounded,  and  he  was  brought  back  as 
a  prisoner. 

It  sounds  like  a  lie — preposterous  in  the  numbers  given. 
But  the  German  prisoner  tells  the  same  tale,  and  other  men 
watched  the  hunt  at  different  stages — this  fearful  man-hunt 
down  a  bloody  ditch. 


Things  happen  like  that  in  this  present  fighting.  Worse 
than  that  in  human  anguish,  and  better  than  that  in  courage. 
Out  in  crater-land  were  found  three  Australians  in  a  hole. 

One  of  them  was  unwounded,  the  other  two  rotting  with 


NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL  361 

wounds.  They  had  been  there  for  nine  days.  The  un- 
wounded  man  had  stayed  with  his  "pals"  all  that  time,  day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  hoping  for  rescue.  This  part 
of  crater-land  was  swept  with  machine-gun  fire — ours  or 
the  enemy's,  how  could  these  men  tell  who  had  lost  all  sense 
of  direction? — but  at  night  the  unwounded  Australian 
crawled  out  of  his  hole  and  rum.maged  among  dead  bodies 
for  rations  and  water-bottles,  which  he  took  back  to  his 
friends  and  shared  with  them. 

It  is  only  one  incident  of  the  kind.  In  crater-land  there 
are  many  like  it,  though  not  so  long-drawn.  But  it  is  the 
enemy  who  suffers  most  out  there. 

Many  times  men  left  to  hold  a  line  against  us  do  not  get 
their  reliefs,  for  the  reliefs  cannot  get  up  through  our  cur- 
tain-fire or  will  not  come. 

So  the  others,  starving  and  wounded,  crawl  back,  leaving 
a  trail  of  dead  on  the  way,  and  for  a  time,  here  and  there, 
the  enemy  has  disappeared  before  us,  so  that  when  our 
patrols  push  out  they  can  find  no  living  man. 

Then,  after  a  while,  the  reliefs  come  up,  dodging  our 
shell-fire,  leaving  another  trail  of  dead  and  wounded,  and 
then  dropping  into  shell-holes  inhabited  by  corpses. 

It  is  the  way  of  the  war,  about  which  the  orators  have 
much  to  say,  not  knowing  quite  the  meaning  of  it.  Herr 
Bethmann-Hollweg  has  not  seen  his  men  in  crater-land. 


5 

October  4 

A  little  romance  clings  to  old  buildings,  even  the  remnant 

of  a  wall  or  two,  so  that  a  place  like  Eaucourt  I'Abbaye — the 

ruin  of  a  French  monastery — seems  of  greater  importance 

than  a  heap  of  earth  and  a  network  of  ditches  like  the 

Schwaben  or  Hessian  redoubts.    It  is  of  no  more  importance 

(I  suppose  less,  except  as  another  stepping-stone  on  the  way 

to  Bapaume),  but  it  is  the  scene  of  fighting  which  has  a 

special  interest  because  of  those  old  bricks  built  up  centu- 


362  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

ries  ago  by  French  monks  to  enclose  a  place  of  prayer  and 
peaceful  work. 

On  Monday  last,  when  the  fighting  began,  two  monsters 
came  crawling  up  to  the  ditches  which  had  been  dug  by  the 
fighting  men  outside  the  monastery  walls.  They  breathed 
out  smoke  and  fire.  Their  sides  opened  with  stabs  of  flame, 
and  they  killed  the  men  in  the  ditches  by  rolling  on  them 
and  crushing  them,  and  hurling  invisible  bolts  at  them. 

The  ghosts  of  the  monks,  if  any  were  there,  would  have 
seen  that  modern  warfare  has  brought  back  the  mediaeval 
dragon-myth,  and  made  it  real,  and  more  terrible  than  super- 
stition.    They  were  the  Tanks  who  came. 

One  could  write  all  this  fantastically  and  make  a  queer 
tale  of  it.  The  truth  is  fantastic,  but  one  must  write  it 
soberly,  because  they  were  British  boys  who  have  given 
their  lives  or  a  little  of  their  blood  to  get  these  bits  of  wall 
called  Eaucourt  I'Abbaye,  with  its  vaults  and  cellars.  To 
them  it  was  not  like  an  old  fairy-tale,  but  was  just  one  of 
those  grim  bits  of  fighting,  damnably  dangerous  and  ugly 
and  cheerless,  which  belong  to  the  Battle  of  the  Somme. 

The  first  part  I  have  already  told,  two  days  ago,  how  our 
men,  in  their  attack  on  the  double  line  of  trenches  outside 
the  monastery,  were  checked  by  barbed  wire  and  machine- 
guns,  and  two  Tanks  came  to  the  rescue.  One  of  them, 
after  doing  useful  work,  came  to  a  stop,  and  the  skipper 
came  out  and,  after  doing  most  gallant  service,  was 
wounded. 

Three  of  the  crew  put  him  into  a  shell-crater  and  would 
not  leave  him.  A  day  later  he  was  wounded  again  by  a 
bomb,  which — amazing  as  it  seems — did  not  burst,  but  in- 
jured him  badly  in  the  ribs,  so  that  he  had  to  endure  great 
suffering  out  there  in  the  crater. 

Our  infantry  passed  over  the  trenches  and  through  the 
monastery  ruins  and  dug  a  new  ditch  on  the  north  side  for 
defence  and  cover.  Heavy  rain  came  and  drenched  them 
and  swamped  the  ditch.  They  were  cold  and  wet  and 
hungry. 


NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL  363 

For  a  time  it  was  impossible  to  get  food  up  to  them. 
The  ground  behind  was  a  quagmire  for  miles.  The  carriers 
became  bogged.  That  little  body  of  men  to  the  north  of 
the  abbey  were  dangerously  isolated,  and  might  have  starved 
but  for  the  help  of  troops  on  their  right  who  discovered  their 
needs  and  sent  food. 

That  was  on  Monday  night.  To  the  best  of  their  belief 
the  enemy  was  in  force  all  round  them.  They  could  see 
flares  going  up,  at  Warlencourt,  and  from  a  primeval  burial 
ground,  about  forty  feet  high,  called  the  Butte  de  Warlen- 
court, just  north  of  them,  and  they  could  hear  the  snap 
of  rifle  bullets  from  close  shell-craters  and  the  rat-tat-tat  of 
a  machine-gun  from  a  millhouse  300  yards  away,  north- 
west. 

From  what  our  men  learnt  yesterday,  there  was  an  hour 
or  two  at  least  when  they  had  only  a  few  Germans  in  the 
close  neighbourhood  of  the  Abbey. 

The  enemy's  troops  were  expecting  their  relief.  When 
they  found  that  the  reliefs  did  not  come  up  they  cursed  the 
war  and  the  weather — they  were  as  wet  and  hungry  as  our 
men — and  decided  to  go  back  without  further  waiting.  Only 
a  few  snipers  and  machine-gunners  stayed. 

Such  things  have  happened  before  in  the  enemy's  lines  as 
I  have  already  described.  It  was  given  away  this  time  by  a 
body  of  twenty  men  with  an  officer  and  non-commissioned 
officer,  who  came  down  past  the  mill-house  and  took  cover 
under  a  bank  close  to  the  abbey  buildings. 

They  were  seen  by  our  men,  who  crept  out  towards  them 
with  a  machine-gun,  and  then  shouted  "Hands  up!"  Twenty 
men  held  up  their  hands.  The  officer  and  the  "unter-offizier" 
did  not  surrender,  but  ran  hard  back  and  made  their  es- 
cape, unless  two  of  our  bullets  reached  them. 

The  twenty  men  told  their  tale.  They  belonged  to  the 
battalion  who  had  been  sent  up  to  relieve  the  troops  holding 
the  outskirts  of  the  Abbey.  They  had  found  no  one  to  re- 
ceive them  or  to  explain  the  lie  of  the  land.    They  had  not 


364  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

the  slightest  notion  of  the  amount  of  ground  held  by  the 
English  here. 

Other  bodies  of  the  relieving  troops  were  just  as  ignorant. 
Some  of  them  blundered  against  trenches  held  by  our  men 
on  the  right  of  the  Abbey,  and  were  dealt  with  by  them. 

Meanwhile  a  telephone  message  had  been  sent  to  our  ar- 
tillery, which  flung  out  a  barrage  and  caught  more  of  the 
relief  coming  down  from  Warlencourt. 

In  spite  of  their  horrible  mess,  the  men  who  got  through 
the  barrage  were  bold  fellows  and  attacked  the  abbey  and 
the  trenches  south  of  it.  They  had  a  new  supply  of  bombs 
and  used  them  freely.  Our  men  were  sadly  at  a  disad- 
vantage.    Bombs  were  very  scarce. 

A  dump  had  exploded  by  accident,  sending  their  store  to 
blazes.  They  had  to  fight  with  what  they  carried  on  their 
bodies,  and  it  was  not  enough.  For  a  time  they  had  to 
submit  to  the  fortune  of  war,  and  while  still  holding  the 
north  side  of  the  abbey  and  ground  to  the  east  and  south- 
east, could  not  keep  the  enemy  from  bombing  his  way  into 
a  part  of  the  ruins  and  into  the  southern  ditch  which  had 
been  captured  with  the  help  of  the  Tanks. 

So  the  situation  remained  last  evening  and  night.  New 
and  heavy  rainstorms  increased  the  ugly  discomforts  of  our 
men. 

They  were  clinging  on  to  water-logged  holes.  They  were 
wet  to  the  skin,  covered  in  slimy  mud,  and  cold  and  weary. 
The  wounded  among  them  were  in  a  tragic  plight. 

The  dead  seemed  to  have  all  the  luck.  .  .  .  But  the  fight- 
ing spirit  did  not  desert  them.  New  bombs  arrived,  and 
that  heartened  them.  Some  of  their  comrades  came  fighting 
up  from  the  south. 

Early  in  the  morning  there  were  roars  of  explosion  as 
the  bombs  crashed  into  the  south  ditch  and  then  burst 
among  the  abbey  ruins.  It  was  then  that  there  was  hot 
fighting  underground  as  well  as  above  ground.  Our  men 
"cleaned  up"  Eaucourt  I'Abbaye. 

It  is  a  technical  phrase  which  has  a  very  grim  meaning. 


NORTHWARD  FROM  THIEPVAL  365 

There  are  no  Germans  there  now  in  the  abbey  vaults,  except 
the  bodies  of  their  dead. 

In  those  great  arched  cellars,  where  old  spiders  have  spun 
their  webs,  and  where  old  monks  once  came  blinking  down 
with  horn  lanterns  to  fetch  the  abbot's  wine,  or  to  count 
their  stores,  English  soldiers,  covered  with  mud,  but  drier 
now,  sit  rubbing  up  their  rifles  and  binding  up  their  wounded 
and  talking  of  the  fight  that  is  over. 


XXXVIII 
THE  WAY  TO  BAPAUME 


I 

October  7 
Our  troops  have  taken  advantage  of  fine  weather  after 
heavy  rains  to  make  a  new  attack  this  afternoon  upon  a 
German  front  of  12,000  yards,  and  have  captured  a  number 
of  important  positions,  including  the  fortified  village  of  Le 
Sars,  to  the  north-west  of  E^ucourt  I'Abbaye.  For  several 
days  past  the  pressure  of  our  attack  had  to  be  slackened 
on  account  of  the  bad  state  of  the  ground  and  the  rain- 
storms, which  prevented  artillery  and  aerial  observation. 

It  was  bad  luck  upon  our  men,  as  it  increased  the  difficul- 
ties for  getting  up  the  supplies  essential  to  the  success  of  a 
new  move  forward,  and  made  the  battlefields  one  vast  bog, 
in  which  guns  and  men  and  wagons  and  mules  were  clogged 
with  slime  and  mud. 

Ye'';;erday  the  sky  cleared,  and  the  men  who  had  taken 
Eaucourt  I'Abbaye  by  such  a  gallant  struggle  pushed  out 
and  seized  the  mill-house  to  the  west  of  those  ruins  from 
which  the  enemy  had  been  maintaining  heavy  machine-gun 
fire. 

It  is  to  those  who  know  what  mud  and  rain  mean  to  3x1 
army  in  the  field  an  astonishing  and  audacious  thing  to 
attack  in  such  numbers  to-day,  abruptly  and  without  waiting 
for  more  favourable  conditions  of  ground. 

At  this  hour,  when  heavy  fighting  continues  along  the 
whole  line  from  Le  Sars  eastwards  towards  Le  Transloy, 
it  is  impossible  to  write  more  than  a  few  details  of  the 
progress  that  has  been  made  already. 

366 


THE  WAY  TO  BAPAUME  367 

The  taking  of  Le  Sars  itself  is  the  gain  of  another  fortress 
defending  the  way  to  Bapaume,  the  main  road  to  that  town 
running  through  the  village,  which  was  in  a  natural  position 
of  defence  protected  by  a  deep  cutting  on  the  right,  by  a 
double  line  of  trenches  to  the  south  and  by  machine-gun 
emplacements  with  a  wide  field  of  fire. 

It  was  from  that  position  that  our  troops  were  heavily 
enfiladed  in  their  first  assaults  upon  the  Abbey  ruins,  and 
the  enemy  had  determined  to  defend  it  desperately,  as  it 
holds  a  position  of  great  strategic  importance  to  our  future 
drive  against  them. 

Well,  they  have  lost  it.  Before  the  red  dusk  this  evening 
our  airmen,  who  were  hovering  over  the  place  high  above 
the  shell-fire,  signalled  back  that  our  infantry  were  well  into 
the  town  and  sending  back  batches  of  prisoners. 

It  was  a  rapid  assault.  Within  an  hour  our  men  had 
fought  their  way  across  the  tangle  of  trenches  and  shell- 
craters  just  below  the  village,  and  had  gained  their  chief 
objectives,  which  included  the  deep  cutting  striking  into  the 
village  from  the  right. 

The  only  way  of  escape  for  the  Germans  was  westwards 
through  a  belt  of  scarred  and  blackened  tree-stumps.  I  do 
not  know  yet  whether  they  had  been  dislodged  from  that 
primeval  burial-place  called  the  Butte  de  Warlencourt,  which 
rises  about  fifty  feet  to  the  north  of  Le  Sars  on  the  right  of 
the  Bapaume  Road. 

The  ground  beyond  has  the  village  of  Le  Barque  on  the 
right  of  the  road  and  four  sunken  cross-roads  called  the  Cut- 
Throat  on  the  west  of  a  deep  ravine,  just  above  the  village 
of  Warlencourt-Eaucourt.  It  is  here  that  the  enemy  will 
be  under  our  barrage  and  the  enemy's  troops  must  rally 
there  if  they  can  for  any  counter-attack. 

East  of  Le  Sars  and  north  of  Flers  and  Lesboeufs  British 
battalions  have  made  solid  progress,  driving  back  the  enemy 
out  of  trenches  hurriedly  scraped  up  during  recent  weeks, 
but  not  so  richly  provided  with  dug-outs  as  his  earlier  lines, 
so  that  when  our  guns  concentrated  their  fire  on  them  the 


368  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

only  escape  from  great  slaughter  was  to  hold  them  thinly 
with  the  main  reliance  on  machine-guns  for  defence. 

Our  right  wing  has  advanced  about  a  kilometre  from 
Lesboeufs  towards  Le  Transloy,  where  it  has  linked  up  with 
the  French  battalions  pressing  forward  to  Sailly-SaiUisel, 
with  their  usual  dashing  spirit  of  attack. 

It  seems  that  the  day  has  been  in  our  favour  all  along  the 
line  of  this  sweeping  movement.  We  shall  know  more  and 
may  tell  more  in  a  few  hours. 


2 

October  8 

The  men  who  took  Le  Sars  are  still  holding  it,  and  only 
the  short  facts  of  their  case  come  back  from  them  through 
the  mist  and  across  the  waterpools.  Last  night  and  this 
morning  it  has  been  raining  again,  in  a  drizzling  way,  and 
all  the  shell-craters  are  ponds. 

It  would  be  possible  to  swim  in  some  of  them,  those 
scooped  out  by  the  biggest  shells  and  linked  up  with  others. 
It  is  not  easy  to  get  runners  back  across  country  like  that, 
and  the  Germans  find  it  harder  and  are  drowned  in  many 
of  those  pits,  because  of  our  artillery  fire  pouring  "stuff" 
over  them. 

Yet,  curiously,  it  is  from  the  Germans  that  one  learns 
most  of  the  frightful  drama  which  went  on  yesterday  after- 
noon in  Le  Sars  village.  They  are  prisoners,  300  of  them, 
with  five  officers  who  were  sent  back  to  safety,  while  our 
men  stayed  on  and  fought  on. 

Those  from  the  village — it's  just  the  name  that  stands — 
belong  to  the  321st  and  322nd  "Ersatz,"  or  Reserve  Regi- 
ment. They  had  been  reinforced,  strengthening  the  garri- 
son and  expecting  an  attack,  by  some  uncanny  means,  at  the 
exact  minute. 

They  were  stout  fellows — our  officers  pay  them  this  trib- 
ute— and  they  had  been  ordered  to  fight  to  the  last  man 


THE  WAY  TO  BAPAUME  369 

rather  than  surrender  this  fortress,  which  is  one  of  the  gates 
barring  the  long  road  to  Bapaume. 

They  trained  their  machine-guns  and  trench  mortars  on 
our  front  trenches,  kept  their  rifles  dry  by  wrapping  them 
in  rags,  and  sent  out  volunteers  and  victims  to  lie  in  the 
shell-pits  waist-high  in  water  to  snipe  our  men  as  they  came 
over. 

They  knew  that  they  had  a  poor  chance  really  to  keep 
Le  Sars,  and  their  best  hope  of  life  or  death  was  to  put  up  a 
hard  fight.  Our  guns  had  already  smashed  the  houses  and 
barns  to  rubbish  heaps  like  those  of  Martinpuich  and  Cour- 
celette — even  a  little  more,  judging  from  what  our  airmen 
saw — and  our  nine-point-twos,  eight  inches,  and  other  mon- 
ster guns  were  making  a  worse  hell  of  the  place. 

The  men  of  the  German  361st  and  362nd  regiment  of 
reserves  lay  low  in  their  dug-outs  and  tucked  their  heads 
down  in  new  trenches,  finely  built  in  a  hurry. 

What  happened  first  was  that  our  barrage  lifted  and  long 
waves  of  brown  soldiers  sprang  over  their  parapets  facing 
up  from  ground  close  south  of  Le  Sars  and  on  the  German 
left  from  the  edge  of  Eaucourt  I'Abbaye  and  the  mill-house 
beyond. 

Their  first  goal  on  our  right  was  one  of  those  beastly 
quadrilateral  redoubts  called  the  Tangle  (there  is  another 
behind  our  new  line  at  Eaucourt),  and  after  that  the  road 
from  Martinpuich,  north-eastwards,  and  then  forward  to 
the  Butte  de  Warlencourt — that  old  high  tumulus  in  which 
the  bones  of  some  prehistoric  man  lay  until  we  flung  them 
up  to  the  surface  of  our  modern  civilisation. 


The  Tangle  was  the  first  check  and  a  bad  one.  Machine- 
guns  swept  the  field  with  bullets  so  that  men  lay  on  their 
faces  in  the  mud,  not  bothering,  you  may  guess,  about 
appearances.     They  were  just  scarecrows  and  mud-larks, 


370  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

wallowing  in  slime  but  finding  an  inch  or  two  of  luck  in  it. 
Another  muddy  thing  came  on  the  way  to  the  Tangle,  more 
like  a  primeval  river  hog  than  in  the  early  days  of  its  debut, 
because  of  the  mountains  of  slush  churned  up  by  its  flanks. 

The  Tank  turned  its  snout  towards  the  Tangle  and  strug- 
gled over  the  choppy  ground — wave  upon  wave  of  craters 
with  high  rims,  until  it  reached  a  bit  of  the  deep  cutting 
which  makes  a  hole  in  the  side  of  Le  Sars. 

This  sunken  road,  or  old  quarry  track,  was  filled  with 
German  soldiers  alive  and  dead.  The  living  ones  flung 
bombs  at  the  Tank,  fired  rifle  volleys  and  tried  to  stab  it 
from  beneath  as  it  straggled  across  the  ditch  and  stayed 
across  it  firing  venomously  from  each  flank.  After  that, 
something  having  happened  to  its  internal  organs,  it  com- 
mitted hari-kari.  But  it  seems  to  have  been  useful  before 
going  up  in  a  blaze  of  glory. 

The  German  prisoners  who  faced  our  men  in  the  outskirts 
of  Le  Sars,  and  then  further  back  in  the  sunken  road,  and 
in  the  hiding  places  below  ground,  say  there  was  grim  and 
bitter  fighting  there,  and  pay  a  soldier's  tribute  to  the  men 
who  captured  them.  'They  fought  us  fiercely,  and  beat 
us.  We  could  not  stand  up  against  them."  Our  men  saw 
red,  even  in  the  mist,  and  in  the  hand-to-hand  fighting  they 
had  the  Germans  by  the  throat. 


XXXIX 

THE  GERMAN  VERDICT  OF  THE 
SOMME  BATTLES 


I 

October  3 
There  has  come  into  our  hands,  by  the  fortune  of  war,  a 
long  and  critical  report  by  General  Sixt  von  Armin,  com- 
manding the  fourth  German  Corps  against  the  British  front 
in  the  Battle  of  the  Somme  during  July. 

It  is  an  important  historical  document.  The  German 
general  has  written  it  as  a  great  soldier  writes  on  his  own 
subject,  without  passion  or  prejudice,  in  a  cold  scientific 
spirit,  analysing  the  qualities  of  his  enemy  as  well  as  the 
enemy's  weaknesses,  and  exposing  the  errors  and  failures  of 
his  own  organisation,  leadership,  and  troops  with  the  same 
impartial  candour. 

It  is  well  done,  minutely  technical,  full  of  military  knowl- 
edge and  common  sense.  But  in  setting  all  these  things 
down,  in  this  analysis  of  German  organisation,  tactics,  ma- 
terial, and  moral,  during  the  first  month  of  our  great  of- 
fensive, General  von  Armin  has  confessed  to  the  utter  fail- 
ure of  his  war-machine. 

In  almost  every  paragraph,  dealing  with  every  depart- 
ment of  his  corps  in  fighting  organisation,  there  is  this  con- 
fession of  breakdown  and  an  acknowledgment  of  British 
superiority. 

No  general  of  ours  writing  of  our  own  troops  or  of  our 
own  artillery,  or  air  service,  could  claim  greater  supremacy 
than  is  granted  to  us  by  this  German  army-corps-commandcr 
in  his  comparison  between  our  power  and  his  own.    To  our 

371 


872  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

soldiers  this  document  is  worth  a  thousand  times  its  weight 
in  gold  as  a  moral  tonic,  for  everything  they  hoped  had  been 
attained  in  this  battle  of  the  Somme — the  ever  increasing 
strain  upon  German  organisation,  the  effect  of  our  artillery 
fire,  the  mastery  of  our  flying  corps,  the  demoralisation  of 
the  enemy's  command,  is  here  admitted  as  the  bitter  fruit  of 
experience.     It  is  the  fruit  of  one  month's  experience. 

Since  then  there  have  been  more  months,  and  not  all  the 
lessons  set  down  in  this  document  have  been  of  help  to  the 
enemy,  but  the  cup  of  bitterness  has  been  filled  and  refilled. 


The  Report  begins  with  a  tribute  to  our  British  infantry, 
which,  says  General  von  Armin,  "has  undoubtedly  learnt 
much  since  the  autumn  offensive"  (of  1915)- 

"It  shows  great  dash  in  attack,  a  factor  to  which  immense 
confidence  in  its  overwhelming  artillery  greatly  contributes. 
The  Englishman  also  has  his  physique  and  training  in  his 
favour. 

"The  English  infantry  showed  great  tenacity  in  defence. 
This  was  especially  noticeable  in  the  case  of  small  parties, 
which  when  once  established  with  machine-guns  in  the 
corner  of  a  wood  or  group  of  houses  were  very  difficult  to 
drive  out." 

Again  and  again  General  von  Armin  reveals  the  new  and 
overwhelming  power  of  our  artillery. 

"Particularly  noticeable  was  the  high  percentage  of 
medium  and  heavy  gvms  with  the  artillery,  which,  apart 
from  this,  was  numerically  far  superior  to  ours.  The  am- 
munition has  apparently  improved  considerably. 

"All  our  tactically-important  positions  were  methodically 
bombarded  by  the  English  artillery,  as  well  as  all  known 
infantry  and  battery  positions. 

"Extremely  heavy  fire  was  continuously  directed  on  the 
villages  situated  immediately  behind  the  firing  line  as  well 


GERMAN  VERDICT  OF  SOMME  BATTLES   373 

as  on  all  natural  cover  afforded  by  the  ground.  Registration 
and  fire  control  were  assisted  by  well  organised  aerial  ob- 
servation. At  night  the  villages  also  were  frequently 
bombed  by  aeroplanes." 

The  terrifying  destructive  power  of  our  artillery  is  re 
vealed  not  only  by  these  definite  statements,  but  in  advice 
under   separate   headings.      Thus,    in   the   instructions   to 
officers  selecting  infantry  positions : 

"Narrow  trenches  with  steep  sides  again  proved  very 
disadvantageous,  and  caused  considerably  more  casualties 
(men  being  buried)  than  shallower  trenches  with  a  wide 
top.  ...  A  cover  trench  roughly  parallel  with  the  front 
fire  trench  is  not  sound.  Such  trenches  are  destroyed  by  the 
enemy's  fire  at  the  same  time  and  exactly  the  same  way  as 
the  actual  fire  trenches." 

Heavy  casualties  were  also  experienced  during  July  by 
the  German  artillery,  as  the  following  note  shows: 

"The  English  custom  of  shelling  villages  heavily  led  to 
the  adoption  of  the  principle  that  batteries  should  never  be 
sited  in  the  villages  themselves.  .  .  .  The  employment  of 
steep  slopes  for  battery  positions  must  also  be  discarded 
for  similar  reasons." 

A  melancholy  picture  is  drawn  of  the  German  battle 
headquarters,  also  brought  under  fire  by  our  far-reaching 
artillery,  and  in  such  a  zone  of  fire  that  German  staff  officers 
get  killed  on  their  way  up  or  cannot  find  their  whereabouts, 
or  having  found  the  building  scuttle  down  into  overcrowded 
hiding-places,  panic-stricken  by  our  bombardments.  Owing 
to  choosing  unsuitable  sites  for  battle  headquarters  there 
were  "frequent  interruptions  in  personal  and  telephone 
traffic  by  artillery  fire,  and  overcrowding  in  the  few  avail- 
able cellars  in  the  villages." 

That  rush  for  cellars  already  thronged  must  hurt  the 
pride  and  dignity  of  the  German  staff.  They  are  recom- 
mended to  have  many  sign-boards  put  up  to  direct  them  to 
battle  headquarters,  and  to  avoid  "lengthy  searches  which 
caused  many  casualties." 


374  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 


The  enemy's  own  artillery  was  much  hampered  during 
the  July  battles  by  the  steady  intensity  of  our  fire. 

"It  was  found  very  difficult,"  says  General  von  Armin, 
"to  form  a  continuous  barrage,  without  gaps,  in  front  of 
our  own  lines,  owing  to  the  occasional  uncertainty  as  to 
the  position  of  our  front  line,  which  was  continually  chang- 
ing during  the  fighting,  the  frequent  changing  of  batteries, 
the  re-grouping  of  the  artillery,  which  was  often  necessary, 
the  bad  conditions  for  observation,  the  permanent  inter- 
ruption of  the  telephone  communications,  and  the  practically 
continuous  heavy  fire  which  was  maintained  behind  our 
front  line." 

The  General  describes  in  detail  the  enormous  difficulties 
experienced  by  his  officers  in  bringing  up  reserves  quickly 
for  counter  attacks,  owing  to  the  severity  of  our  barrage, 
the  breakdown  of  telephonic  communications,  the  killing 
of  the  runners,  and  the  time  taken  for  transmission  of  orders 
from  the  front  line. 

The  troops  have  to  "advance  slowly  across  country,  with 
which  they  are  generally  unacquainted,  and  under  heavy 
fire." 

He  confesses  to  the  utter  failure  of  the  counter-attacks 
made  against  us  during  July  without  method  and  without 
weight.     His  words  are : 

"H  counter-attacks,  which,  on  account  of  the  situation, 
ought  to  be  methodically  prepared,  are  hurried,  they  cost 
much  blood,  and  cause  the  troops  to  lose  their  trust  in  their 
leaders  if  they  fail,  which  nearly  always  happens  in  such 
a  case." 


With  regard  to  the  air  service  General  von  Armin  ac- 
knowledges in  strong  language  the  supremacy  of  the  British 
and  the  failure  of  their  own : 


GERMAN  VERDICT  OF  SOMME  BATTLES  375 

"The  means  for  providing  the  artillery  with  aerial  ob- 
servation has  proved  to  be  insufficient.  .  .  .  The  numerical 
superiority  of  the  enemy's  airmen  and  the  fact  that  their 
machines  were  better  were  made  disagreeably  apparent  to 
us,  particularly  in  their  direction  of  the  enemy's  artillery 
fire  and  in  bomb-dropping. 

"The  number  of  our  battle-planes  was  also  too  small. 
The  enemy's  airmen  were  often  able  to  fire  successfully  on 
our  troops  with  machine-guns  by  descending  to  a  height  of 
a  few  hundred  metres. 

"The  German  anti-aircraft  gun  sections  could  not  con- 
tinue firing  at  this  height  without  exposing  their  own  troops 
to  serious  danger  from  fragments  of  shell.  .  .  . 

"A  further  lesson  to  be  learnt  from  this  surprisingly  bold 
procedure  on  the  part  of  the  English  airmen  is  that  the 
infantry  make  too  little  use  of  their  rifles  as  a  means  of 
driving  off  aircraft." 


The  Army  Corps  commander  responsible  for  the  organi- 
sation and  direction  of  the  troops  who  fought  against  us  in 
July  finds  failure  and  shortage  in  almost  every  department 
of  war  material  at  his  disposal. 

The  supply  of  artillery  ammunition  of  all  kinds  during 
the  first  days  of  the  battle  did  not  equal  the  expenditure. 
Reserve  supplies  were  only  available  in  very  small  quantities. 

There  were  "repeated  requests  from  all  arms  for  an  in- 
creased supply  of  entrenching  tools." 

"The  original  supply  of  maps  was  insufficient,  not  only 
as  regards  quantity,  but  also  as  regards  detail." 

The  supply  of  horses  and  vehicles  to  the  troops  "has 
reached  the  utmost  limits  owing,  on  the  one  hand,  to  the 
permanent  reduction  in  the  establishment  of  horses,  and  on 
the  other  hand  to  the  permanent  increase  in  fighting  material 
and  articles  of  equipment." 

"The  existing  telephone  system  proved  totally  inadequate 


376  THE  BATTLES  OF  THE  SOMME 

in  consequence  of  the  development  which  the  fighting  took." 

"The  existing  organisation  in  the  Hght  signalHng  service 
does  not  meet  requirements." 

The  supply  of  Hght  pistols  for  signalling  "is  too  small." 

The  establishment  of  motor  cycles  proved  insufficient  for 
the  heavy  fighting.    This  deficiency  was  "painfully  evident." 

"The  great  weight"  of  the  German  machine-guns  "has 
again  proved  to  be  a  serious  disadvantage  under  these  con- 
ditions." 

"Complaints  have  been  received  that  the  ammunition- 
boxes  and  water-jackets  of  the  machine-guns  are  too  heavy." 

"It  is  universally  suggested  that  the  supply  of  hand- 
grenades  should  be  increased." 

With  regard  to  food  there  is  no  suggestion  that  the  army 
behind  the  lines  is  on  short  rations,  but  there  are  difficulties 
in  getting  supplies  up  to  the  front  trenches,  and  it  is  recom- 
mended that  men  going  into  action  should  carry  their  "third 
iron  rations" — that  is,  a  more  ample  supply  of  tinned  foods. 

They  ask  for  more  tinned  meats,  tinned  sausages,  bread, 
and  mineral  waters,  but  the  General  advises  that  tinned  her- 
rings should  not  be  eaten,  as  they  encourage  thirst. 

In  all  but  the  food  department  the  German  organisation 
of  supplies  is  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting  by 
one  of  their  own  great  Generals. 

In  spite  of  all  their  boasted  genius  of  organisation,  and 
it  has  been  wonderful  (let  us  admit  that  handsomely),  it 
could  not  withstand  the  tremendous  pressure  of  our  July 
thrust. 

It  failed  item  by  item — artillery,  aviation,  ammunition, 
and  stores  of  every  kind.  The  staffs  were  inadequate,  the 
communications  broke  down,  the  great  German  war-ma- 
chine was  strained  and  put  out  of  gear  and  badly  knocked 
about  by  the  ferocity  and  continuance  of  the  British 
assault. 

Since  then  it  has  not  been  able  to  recover  its  efficiency. 
The  pressure  has  become  more  powerful,  the  strain  harder 
to  bear. 


GERMAN  \  ERDICT  OF  SOMME  BATTLES  377 

If  General  von  Armin  were  to  write  a  second  report  on 
the  battle  of  the  Somme  it  would  be  a  more  gloomy  docu- 
ment than  this.  But  what  he  has  written  stands,  and  it  is  a 
frightful  confession  which  would  put  terror  into  the  hearts 
of  the  German  people  could  they  read  it. 

They  will  not  be  allowed  to  read  it,  for  it  tells  the  truth, 
which  the  War  Lords  are  hiding  from  them. 

It  will  be  seen  that  my  despatches  do  not  include  the  cap- 
ture of  Beaumont-Hamel — one  of  the  most  astounding 
achievements  in  all  this  fighting.  In  October  I  was  com- 
pelled to  go  home  on  sick-leave,  so  that  I  missed  that  great 
battle  on  the  Ancre.  It  has  revived  the  nation's  hope  that  by 
a  continuous  series  of  these  blows  the  German  resistance 
will  break  down  utterly  at  last  and  that  they  will  acknov/1- 
edge  defeat.  From  a  military  point  of  view  that  hope  is 
the  best  thing  we  have,  but  the  fulfilment  of  it  must  be 
deterred  through  many  months  of  another  year  reeking  like 
this  one  of  blood  and  massacre  and  sacrifice. 


AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


e',5ecourt 
R\tVooc/ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  "below 


MAR  f  ri^SMM 


m 


t»a 


AUG  15  1981 


wjTora-UIII! 

Si  MAR  0  3 
JilftR22l98B 


19IJ6 


ORION  , 


^tC'O 


ID* 


Form  L-9 
20m-12. '39(3388) 


Al^' 


.^ 


3  1158  00038  3082 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  750  608    2 


